


Dauntless

by Ember3ye



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Gamer Nerd Oikawa, Homophobic Slurs, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriately used fire extinguisher, KINDAICHI'S BIG FAT GAY CRUSH ON IWAIZUMI, Love Triangles, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, PDA Matsuhana, Pining Iwaizumi, Self-destructive Oikawa, Sex Jokes, Slow Build, Texting/Group chats, au where they never met as children, homophobic violence, mental breakdowns, oh look the main characters appear 200k words in
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2018-07-16 15:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 292,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7272874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ember3ye/pseuds/Ember3ye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa never knew an Iwaizumi Hajime.<br/>Until tonight, when Oikawa Tooru, at nearly 23 years old, bumped into the wrong people.<br/>---<br/>Separated by the social divide, they never had the blessed opportunity to know each other. And yet people have a way of crossing paths in every lifetime, be it brief or permanent. Fluff mainly, mild angst, and a lot of supportive friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saviour

**Author's Note:**

> did you know that when combined, Iwaizumi and Oikawa's first names (Hajime and Tōru respectively) form "一徹" meaning "obstinate" or "dauntless".  
> these men will be the death of me  
> seriously though, I've never written these characters before, so if it's a little awkward at parts, blame that fact.  
> I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!

“Oh my, my, aren’t you a pretty one?”

Oikawa halted, unsure of whether to acknowledge the man standing straight in front of him or not. He didn’t exactly have a choice, the broad stature taking up most of the space of his route. 

“I know. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get past there,” he said, voice masterfully confident and sure. 

The darkness stirred, and another man stepped up beside the first, clothes cleanly pressed and neat, presentable despite the unnerving glitter in his eye. The space Oikawa had to get through became even smaller.

“And what is a man like you coming here so late at night for?”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you,” Oikawa answered, tilting his head back ever so slightly. He was taller than them, if only by a few centimetres. “Let me through.”

“Oh, fiery,” the one on the left drawled, slow and mocking. There was a warning tug in Oikawa’s stomach that he really didn’t like. “If we’re going to move aside, you better give us a good reason.”

“Isn’t my will good enough?” Oikawa’s shoulders were bolted straight and rigid, his eyes just a little more narrowed than normal. “Step aside.”

The men wavered for a split second, their feet sliding just a fraction backwards. Then the look in their eyes hardened to steel again, and Oikawa suddenly knew he’d simply riled them up more. 

“What’s going to happen if we don’t?”

A challenge. 

Oikawa gulped. A bad feeling is starting to pool in his chest, a clear gut warning. Oikawa never ignored his gut instincts. 

“Perhaps I took a wrong turn.”

Taking a wary step back from the men, Oikawa began to spin around when a rough hand clung onto his wrist, claiming it. 

“Where are you going in such a hurry? You’re here now, might as well have some fun with us.”

“I really need to be getting back now, I’m sorry-”

The fingers around his wrist tightened, and Oikawa almost let out a gasp of pain, flinching as he tried to tug his hand away. 

“You’re not sorry.”

“Let me go.”

Oikawa hated the frightened tone his voice had fallen into, because he knew. He knew, maybe if he got free he could outrun them, but his build wasn’t meant for strength, or fighting. Maybe if he could-

“I’ll call the police.  This is harassment,” Oikawa declared, already palming the phone in his pocket like it was his last lifeline. 

“All they’ll find is you here, curled up naked and sobbing like a little shit.” They grinned, and Oikawa’s heart sinks down to the ground, squashed under his dread. 

“Oi.”

Oikawa turned his head away from the two men, hope sparking up in his eyes that died as soon as he stared at the voice’s source. The deep voice belonged to a man who looked even meaner than the other two. His clothes were ragged, dirty even, and Oikawa could feel his face scrunch up into distain despite the situation. Spiked hair barely stood out against the darkness, the obvious irritation written all over his face. Oikawa felt his heart plunge down into the sewers, running away from what he couldn’t. This guy didn’t look like he was here to save him. He looked like he was here to join in with the “fun.”

“What do you want?” 

Oikawa’s head whipped back to the other men, desperation closing in on him as he realised he’s trapped. Even if he broke free of the sweaty hand encircling his slender wrist, there was people blocking up each end of the alleyway the restaurant’s entrance was in. Maybe he could talk his way out of this, maybe not. He had to try.

Before he could speak, the spiky-haired one answered to a question Oikawa forgot was asked. 

“Stop harassing every man who comes through this alleyway. I’m fucking tired of it.”

Oikawa’s heart returned. Just a little, to the cement under his feet, but it wasn’t as deep anymore. 

“It’s nothing to do with you,” the other man snarled back. “Fuck off.”

Green eyes flashed angrily, and Oikawa’s head snapped back to the strange man, feeling a terrible pressure hang in the air. Like being cornered between a wolf and a cheetah, Oikawa thought and almost snorted. Fucking literature class, shoving metaphorical shit into his mind. 

“You fuck off.”

“Wow, amazing comeback.”

The man’s voice was dry, arid and completely and utterly mocking. 

Oikawa wasn’t sure who threw the first punch, but the next thing he knew, the scuffle in front of him was explosive. Darkness impeded Oikawa’s vision, but his gaze could pick up movement, his ears full with the grunts, insults and impacts on cloth, one after another. Swallowing, Oikawa took a quick step back, knowing now was his time to get away. Yet, with another second and another smack, the alleyway fell quiet again. Sucking in a sharp breath, Oikawa heard one more sound-the thud of a body hitting cement. 

“Why are you still here?“

“I-”

Words stuck in Oikawa’s throat, a rare occurrence. “Should I go?”

“Of course you should, moron.”

Shadows rustled towards him, and an emerald gaze gleamed at him. Oikawa’s stomach flipped over. The one who emerged was the glaring guy, the one with messy clothes and an even more dishevelled hairstyle. He brushed past Oikawa with barely a glance. 

“Hey,” Oikawa interjected, turning around to follow him. “Why did you do that?”

The man kept walking, but with Oikawa’s slightly longer stride, he caught up easily. 

“Mind your own business.”

They turned around a corner, and the other tried to break away, but Oikawa once again appeared beside him.

“There has to be a reason,” Oikawa insisted, his voice pitching up higher. “You don’t just do that for someone without motivation.”

“Quite the psychologist, aren’t you?” The man muttered gruffly, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “If it gets you to leave me alone, I admired the way you handled them.”

He spun abruptly into a darkening sidestreet, and Oikawa kept up, his posture elegantly winding into the space next to him. 

“I wouldn’t say I handled them at all.” Oikawa let out a nervous chuckle, his fingers threading back through his hair. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t interfered.” 

“You seem like the type that can handle yourself. It would’ve been okay. Those two were full of nothing but talk.”

Oikawa hesitated for a moment, some twinge in the back of his brain disagreeing.

“It didn’t feel like they just wanted to talk.”

The man rotated his head slightly, just enough to meet Tooru’s gaze out of the corner of his eye.

“You have good instincts. Honestly, if they were only there to mess with your head, I wouldn’t have stepped in.”

Silence weighed down Oikawa’s tongue, a bitter tang of dread swelling over his mouth. They swerved through some more corners and little alleyways, Oikawa trying to push back the horrific thoughts of what could’ve happened and the other guy...who knew. 

Oikawa reached out and closed his fingers around the man’s wrist, halting him in his steps. The jacket crumpled underneath his hand as the guy turned around to face him, and for a moment Oikawa feared he was going to punch him, too. Locking eyes with the man’s, who was sporting an irritated expression, Oikawa spoke.

“Thank you.”

Widening his eyes, the man’s pissed-off expression disappeared, quickly replaced with a soft mouth and raised eyebrows. It changed rapidly to a pout, the other averting his gaze and breaking the eye contact.

“Don’t mention it.” 

Now that he had the chance to look properly at him, Oikawa noticed some crimson, dabbed on the man’s lower lip.

“You do realise you’re bleeding, right?”

“No, I didn’t,” he replied, tone loaded down with sarcasm as he ripped his wrist out of Oikawa’s grasp. “Now go home.”

“Fine.” Oikawa straightened up fully, his shoulders set into a purposeful straight line. He looked around, then scampered back after the man.

“You can’t leave me here! I don’t know where this is!”

Heaving a sigh, the guy stopped again, facing Tooru with what seemed to be his trademark expression-irritated to hell. 

“It’s your fault, for following me so far.”

“It’s your fault for not stopping!” Oikawa protested back, tugging on his sleeve. “Just show me the way back.”

“Hell no. I’m almost home, and I’m hungry.”

“Selfish!”

“How am I the one being selfish here?! And didn’t you need to get past those two guys, anyway? Why are you still here?”

“I did,” Oikawa pouted out, rolling his shoulders back defensively. “But...somehow, I don’t think the people who invited me there were sincere.” 

A flash of something other than annoyance showed briefly on the man’s face, and he sighed deeply. 

“Okay, you. Come on.”

Oikawa brightened up instantly, trailing after him. 

“Why aren’t we going back the same way?”

“It’s too late for us to go back. At this hour, there’ll be even worse faces out on the streets, and I don’t want any more trouble tonight.”

“Wouldn’t you be able to just beat them up though? Like those other guys.”

The man turned around just enough to glower at him. 

“There are a lot better fighters than me in this neighbourhood. I don’t want to run into them.”

“Oh, so you’re scared?”

“Yeah. What of it?”

Oikawa was taken by surprise, pausing for a moment and falling behind him. He admitted his fear easily. Oikawa couldn’t fathom confessing his fear to his closest friends, let alone a stranger. 

“Okay.”

The stranger shot him a suspicious look. 

“What, no smartass comeback this time?”

“That’s because you never answered my question! Where are we going? You aren’t going to kidnap me, are you?”

The man snorted. “You’d be much too annoying to kidnap. I’d have to gag you all the time, but I’m sure you’d find a way to talk somehow.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense! And you barely know me-hey, stop changing the subject!” Oikawa interrupted himself, determined to make him reply to him. 

“We’re going back to my apartment.”

“Gosh, at least take me out for dinner first,” was automatically out of Oikawa’s mouth before he could stop it. He clasped a palm over his mouth, praying that somehow he didn’t hear it. 

Surprisingly, he heard a snicker from the man beside him.

“I’m not that rude.”

“But what makes you think I’ll go back to your place?” Oikawa questioned, gripping his bagstrap tightly. 

“You’re hopelessly lost in a dangerous area. You don’t exactly have a choice.”

“I could take a cab or call the police. They’d help.”

Another snort from the man, who halted in front of an apartment building and entered a code, seemingly able to ignore the plastic bags swirling around their ankles.

“Both are too scared to come here.”

They slipped through the door and swerved to the stairs, rounding the elevator with an “Out Of Order,” sign hastily taped to the door. Mildew was growing on the edges, and half the tape was dangling loosely. Oikawa internally groaned at the thought of how many stairs they’d have to climb.

“Then I can just use the GPS on my phone-”

Oikawa produced the cell with a flourish and a smirk, which vanished as soon as he tried to unlock it. 

“Oh.”

It was dead.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Stop worrying.”

Oikawa released a massive lungful of burning air he didn’t know he was holding. He shouldn’t trust this person. He knows nothing about him, nothing about this area of the city, nothing about what he shouldn’t do. He’s taking his word for it all. And yet, as irrational as it was, his gut was calm as the Dead Sea. Surely, if this man had malicious intent, Oikawa would’ve picked up on it by now. 

“Okay,” he relented, shoulders finally relaxing. They’re aching, and Oikawa now realised just how tense he’d been. 

“I’ll lead you back in the morning.” 

“I can lead myself, if you have a charger in your house.”

“It’s safer if I do it myself.”

Oikawa swallowed down the warmth in his chest, cursing how grateful he felt when he said that. 

“Why do you care so much?” Oikawa muttered, half to himself, but apparently the man picked it up. 

“Why are you so suspicious of every kind action?”

“Because kind people don’t exist.”

Oikawa’s voice was sure and flat. That was a fact. 

The man didn’t answer, instead halting in front of a dingy door and fumbling in his pocket, presumably for the key. He was using one hand, Oikawa noticed. One hand to grope, the other was wound tightly around his torso. A strange hitch in his breath every second or so, now that they weren’t talking anymore. Oikawa prided himself on his observation skills, and he knew something was off with this man. He parted his lips to speak.

“He’s a bit fancier than the slags you usually fuck, ain’t he?”

Spinning around, Oikawa saw an old lady, about three doors down, pulling on a cigar in her dressing gown. He opened his mouth to retaliate, but the man got there before him.

“I’m not going to fuck him. Will you ever mind your own business?”

She released a hearty laugh, rough from the smoke. 

“Don’t got any business to mind anymore. Yours is much more interesting.”

“That’s Hana. Don’t pay her any attention, she likes to create some scandal every now and then,” he said under his breath to Oikawa. Raising his voice, he dismissed Hana politely with a “have a good day, ma’am.”

He jabbed the key into the keyhole, deftly rotating the key smoothly.

“Were you going to say something?”

“I think so,” Oikawa replied, frowning, his train of thought having crashed and exploded. “I can’t remember what though.”

“Tell me later if you think of it,” The man said, swinging the door open.“Alright, welcome to my palace.” 

“Clearly a palace fit for a king,” Oikawa commented dryly, stepping inside his apartment as he flicked the lightswitch on.

An instant later, he felt awful for that remark. 

This man’s place was tiny, but well-kept and as clean as it could be. As he locked up behind him, Oikawa took stock of his surroundings, his crafted hair barely clearing the ceiling by a few inches. To his right, he could see a bit of what appeared to be a sitting room, hardly furnished. In front, the hallway led into a kitchen-Oikawa could see the sink and cooker from where he was standing, and finally, two doors to his left. Everything was compact, but the walls were free of any mould, freshly painted and some pictures of old black-and-white movies were hung up. 

“You can take the bed, it’s right through there,” he pointed it out, a door on the left, barely two feet in front of them. “I’ll crash on the couch. Bathroom’s here-” he gestured to right next to them, on the left again. 

“Thanks.”

Oikawa headed into the bedroom, or tried to. The doorknob was glazed over with rust, biting into his soft palms as he attempted to turn it with a flinch. 

“Oh, sorry. It becomes stiff sometimes.”

He shouldered Oikawa aside and rotated it around easily. “You need to learn a certain knack to open it,” he explained, stepping aside to let Oikawa pass through. 

Glancing down subtly, Oikawa’s gaze skipped across his hands, noting the rough edges to his fingers, well-worn skin rippling like a trophy of hard work. After that brief second, Oikawa stepped into the bedroom. He was immediately hit by atmosphere, greys and blues draped over the walls, more box-like in shape than rectangular. Opposite the door, a small window showed the view of another damn alleyway, almost making Oikawa want to puke. A bed lay to his right, as did a wardrobe, along with a pair of heavy-looking dumbbells and a laptop-silver, with a streak of black down the centre-to his left. It felt plain to Oikawa, stripped of everything but the essentials. Basic. 

“It’s probably not what you’re used to, but it’ll be fine for tonight,” the man said from behind him. 

“It’s totally okay,” Oikawa reassured him, dumping his bag on the bed. “Thank you.”

“It’s no trouble. Are you hungry?”

“I’m good.” 

“Are you sure?”

Oikawa’s pride battled his stomach and lost. 

“I’m a little hungry,” he admitted. “I’m a bit of a disaster in the kitchen, but I can-”

“I’ll take care of it,” the man cut across him promptly, backtracking out the door. “Any allergies or dislikes?”

“Tofu,” Oikawa answered, wrinkling up his nose in disgust as he followed him into the kitchen. Small and compact, a trend Oikawa had noticed throughout this apartment. “It’s so bland. I like sweets, like milk-bread.”

“Milk-bread is sugary, gross and unhealthy.”

“It’s delicious! I eat it all the time.”

“How are you so fit when you eat such junk?”

The man ducked down to a cupboard and pulls out a saucepan, placing it on top of the cooker. 

“The secret is energy drinks,” Oikawa said with an unreasonable amount of pride. 

“They’re even worse for your body.”

Dumping a kettleful of water into it, he slid out a drawer and produced a wooden spoon.

“My body is already fucked up anyway,” Oikawa let out a dry laugh, suddenly hyper-aware of the too-tight, restricting pressure around his knee. 

The man didn’t push any further. 

“Anyway,” Oikawa continued cheerfully, bending over the pot. “What are you cooking?”

The guy turned back around, a packet of dried pasta in his hand, complete with powdered sauce. 

“This.”

“And you lectured me about being unhealthy! Do you know how much salt is in those?”

“I only eat them occasionally.”

“But still! This is unjust,” Oikawa huffed out. 

“Oh, do you not like them?” He went to put it away. “I guess we’re going to have agedashi tofu then, my favourite.”

“Don’t make me suffer just because you’re a hypocrite,” Oikawa protested, folding his arms over his chest in indigitation. 

“Fine, fine.”

Oikawa might’ve been delusional, but he thought he saw the barest shimmer of a smile on his lips. The man ripped open the packet and the contents spilled into the water, quickly stirring it in. 

The next second, he faltered, the spoon hollowly clattering to the tiled floor as he clutched onto the tabletop with one hand, the other pressed to his his stomach. Oikawa’s hands flew up, anxiously fluttering around, unsure of what to do.

“Fuck, fuck…” he hissed out, his eyes squeezing closed. “I thought..oh, shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Oikawa swallowed hard, not liking the pale shade his face had taken on. 

“One of the men had a knife.”

Oikawa’s face drained paler than his, grasping his shoulder tightly. 

“But-your jacket,” Oikawa stammered, gesturing down to his intact clothing. 

“It was open when I fought them,” he gritted out, unzipping his jacket with a flinch. “I didn’t think it was serious, but…”

Oikawa couldn’t hold back a tiny whimper at the sight of his destroyed shirt, blood running through fingers to drip onto the pieces of dangling cloth. He couldn’t even see the wound properly, but he didn’t need to. He knew it was bad. 

“We need to call 119,”Oikawa gulped out, helping the unsteady man to sit down on the floor. 

“No, I can…” His breaths were coming out shallow, rapid, his skin feeling cold under Oikawa’s hand. “I can stitch it up myself, there’s stuff in the bathroom.”

“There’s stuff in the bathroom?! How often does this happen?” Oikawa demanded, but once he opened his mouth, Oikawa shushed him. “Don’t answer that. You said you had stuff in the bathroom?”

He nodded dazedly, his upper body swaying slightly. 

“Upper cabinet, over the sink. You’ll…” he frowned, one hand pressing against the floor as if trying to reorient himself. “Find them easily.”

“Okay. I’ll be back soon.”

Oikawa clambered to his feet, scampering quickly into the bathroom-luckily, no problematic doorknob this time-and flung the cabinet doors open.

This happened because of you, a voice rasped out within his head, resounding around in his skull, becoming louder with every echo. Your pride-your stubbornness to come out here- caused a man to get hurt, and you’re totally fine. 

Shut up, Oikawa willed it as he grabbed bandages, pads, tape, sutures, antiseptic and whatever else looked useful. 

Upon returning into the kitchen with an armful of medical stuff, Oikawa’s already guilty heart was weighed down even further. This time, with fear. The man wasn’t sitting up any more, but lying on his side, seemingly unconscious. 

“Oh, fuck…” Oikawa hissed out, kneeling beside him and depositing his burden. “Whatever your name is, wake up. I need you to tell me what to do!”

There was no response, and Oikawa’s stomach balked at the thought of lifting up his shirt.

Panic racing through him, Oikawa bent over him, gently prodding at the sides of his face. His skin felt damp and cool, like the surface of a wet tissue. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation, and Oikawa withdrew his hand with a slight grimace.   

Yet this man had helped him. He couldn’t leave him to bleed out without doing anything to help. What do I do? Oikawa bit his lower lip, gnawing it so hard some skin peeled off. What do I do? Oikawa’s gaze darted around everywhere, looking for a phone he could use to ring 119. Except he didn’t know where he was. He could give an approximation, sure, but then how would the emergency services get here? He didn’t even know the number of the apartment, or this man’s name. And if he went outside to lead them here, would he be able to remember the way back? Was it even safe to go out at this time of night?

Oikawa threaded both of his hands back through his hair and kept them there, likely messing up his hairstyle even more. 

Pulling out his phone, Oikawa cursed loudly, forgetting it was dead.

Who would he call anyway?

Oikawa’s eyes snapped open wide.

“Suga, oh my god, Suga!”

He had a fucking friend that was training to be a nurse, and he only remembered it now? He must be so much shaken up than he thought. Thank fuck he knew the number off by heart, but a phone. He needed a phone. 

“What kind of person doesn’t have a fucking landline?” Oikawa demanded angrily, a mere minute later after a super quick sweep of the apartment. 

Kneeling down again, Oikawa spotted a lump in the still knocked out man’s pocket, and he cursed even harder.

He was blasted dumbass.

Yanking it out, Oikawa fumbled with the button for unlocking for a moment, then the passcode screen popped up. Slumping back against the cupboards, Oikawa stared at the lockscreen of Godzilla decimating a city flatly. He had no idea what the four digits could be.

Fuck.

If this was a rom-com, I could’ve guessed them, Oikawa internally complained in despair. 

“Okay,” he declared, straightening up his shoulders and arranging the medical supplies. “My sister wanted to be a doctor when she was younger, I can do this.”

Taking a deep breath, Oikawa rolled him onto his back, exposing the bloody shirt again. Despite his fear that there would be a puddle of blood from where he was lying on the floor, there was only a splash of blood. More than a few drops, but definitely could’ve been worse. 

Oikawa hitched up the shirt, and almost lost his nerve. Skin was slashed open in a diagonal line from underneath his left breast to his right hip, along with a dozen shallower cuts. 

He walked all the way back here with this? Oikawa’s head grew dizzy. 

Steadying himself, Oikawa examined the wounds closer, noting the steady bleeding from the large wound. It wasn’t gushing or spurting erratically, which Oikawa viewed as a good sign. He knew arties pumped blood by snapping open and closed, so it appeared no major blood vessels had been hit. Clasping a cloth, Oikawa covered the lip of the disinfectant bottle with it, turned it upside down, and dabbed at the injury. A low groan passed the man’s lips, his eyebrows drawing together in apparent pain. 

“That’s what you get for threatening to feed me tofu,” Oikawa muttered, then felt even more guilty, and added on, “sorry.”

Continuing the wipe down the wounds, Oikawa was careful not to touch them with his bare hands. He really should’ve washed his hands before doing this, goddammit. After a few minutes, the gashes in the flesh seemed as clean as Oikawa could possible get them, although there was still blood leaking from them. Checking his pulse-really should’ve done that at the start, too-Oikawa cracked his knuckles, beginning to feel a bit more confident. He glanced over at the sutures and picked a packet up, surveying it through the transparent plastic. Purple thread and a sharp hook quite larger than he would’ve thought necessary stared back at him, and Oikawa shook his head quickly. 

“I’d probably cause more damage with that,” he muttered.

He placed one of the absorbent pad things over the main cut, frowning as it didn’t cover all of the length. Taking out another, he lay them both over the slice, holding them in place as he wrapped a bandage around his torso. It was tricky, holding up the man by the small of his back and winding it around at the same time, but Oikawa managed somehow, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth in concentration. After that, he repeated the motion with all of his other injuries, taking care not to hurt him any further. Breathing out a massive breath, Oikawa settled him back onto the floor, brushing the sheen of sweat off of his forehead. 

“That was stressful,” he mumbled, eyes skimming over the-admittedly, very nicely muscled-torso to check his handiwork. 

A burning smell hit his senses, and he scrambled to his feet, leaning over the cooker. 

“Please don’t be burnt,” he willed it, looking down at the pasta with not-so-much sauce on it. Scooping up the wooden spoon, Oikawa drove it into the pasta, grimacing as he scraped some stuck pasta off the bottom. Turning off the heat, he inspected it closer, then sighed out his relief. It was mostly edible, with only the pieces on the bottom burnt. 

With that disaster averted, Oikawa turned his attention to the man on the floor again. I can’t leave him there, he thought, shivering at the idea of staying on the cold tiles all night. 

It turned out that the man was quite a lot heavier than Oikawa expected. He couldn’t carry him, so Oikawa ended up dragging him quite awkwardly and ungracefully by his armpits into the sitting room, beside the sofa. Breathing heavily, Oikawa stared at the sofa, wishing it was lower down to the floor. 

“Alright, come on,” Oikawa grunted, hoisting his upper body onto the pillows. His legs followed suite, and Oikawa now had nowhere to sit. 

Bending over the man, Oikawa checked his pulse once more-it felt stronger now, and he breathed a sigh of relief. His skin still feel cool, goosebumps evident on his tanned skin, and Oikawa straightened up, wondering if he should get a blanket or not. Deciding that he should-the man was shivering ever so slightly, after all-Oikawa headed to the bedroom, thanking whatever god was listening that he’d left the door open. He did not want to deal with a rusty doorknob right now. Swinging open the door to his wardrobe, Oikawa spotted one below all the clothes hanging up-mostly jeans and hoodies, as far as he could tell from the rapid glimpse he got-and grabbed it. Returning to the sitting room, he spread it over the man’s body, jealous that it covered him completely from his toes to his chin. Blankets were always just a smidgen too short for Oikawa  to get the blissful, satisfied feeling of being utterly wrapped up on one he recalled from when he was younger. His toes always stuck out the bottom. 

“Now what?” Oikawa questioned the air. 

The air did not answer, nor did the man. Everything was silent, apart from his own breathing-the man’s was too quiet to hear-and it was starting to reverberate dangerously in his ears.

“First thing when you wake up, I’m asking you your name,” Oikawa rambled on as he flitted into the kitchen, giving himself a generous helping of pasta and picking the man’s phone up off of the floor. “It’s weird having nothing to refer to you as, apart from maybe tofu guy. Seriously, how do you like it?”

Dragging a chair from the kitchen into the sitting room-the noise of it scraping on the tiles was comforting- Oikawa sat by his head, eating noisily in the hope he’d wake up. Not like he missed him or anything, it was just...he’d rather not have to hear the silence. Even if it was arguing.

“Take your time,” Oikawa grumped between mouthfuls. “It’s not like I have anyone waiting on me anyway. At least, not until Thursday. And today’s Saturday, right?” 

Oikawa glanced at his watch. One-nine AM.

“Sunday, in fact. College’s finished for the summer, and I have five free days. So please, do take your time,” he drawled sarcastically, but the hunger waned. He put his bowl aside on the floor, not even half-eaten. 

“I think you’ll be okay now.”

Turning his head, Oikawa took in the sitting room properly. Again, basic. A couch, a tv, a table, a heater, and that was all. He could turn on the tv, he supposed, but he was tired, the weariness of today-yesterday-overwhelming his need for noise filling up the spaces in his mind. Spaces where thoughts grew like brambles, prodding everything in his head with poison thorns and analysing it, over and over again. 

Slumping forward, Oikawa stared at the man’s face, no longer twisted up in pain. His skin was regaining its colour, filling out slowly into the dark-ish shade Oikawa saw properly for the first time when they stepped into this apartment. Outside, there was only the orange haze of streetlights and colourful glow of trashy signs to illuminate them, so Oikawa really hadn’t seen much of him. With a start, Oikawa realised he didn’t even know what colour his eyes were. He’d never bothered to note it. From the man’s messy, dark brown hair and dark complexion, Oikawa guessed brown like himself, but he wasn’t certain. Letting his eyes trail over his face again, Oikawa drank in his slightly thicker than normal eyebrows, his eyelashes-Oikawa was once again jealous-how were they so long naturally? He had to use mascara to get that length, and here this man was, wasting away his gift. 

Huffing, Oikawa continued his personal tour-it distracted him from the silence, which was good, always good-down the man’s straight nose-Oikawa’s was curved a little at the end, which gave him more a “cute” look than handsome. Oikawa guessed that this man didn’t have the problem of being called anything other than handsome. Because he was, Oikawa supposed, in an angry sort of way, especially with his full lips. They were split at the moment from the fight, and Oikawa leaned forward to dab at the dried blood with his sleeve before he realised how expensive his shirt was. 

Soon after, he came back with a damp piece of toilet paper and sat back down. He gently wiped away the tiny amount of reddish-brown blood, glad that it didn’t start bleeding after he straightened up again. 

“I’m also going to loan you my chapstick,” Oikawa said aloud, a single eyebrow raising at the horrid condition his lips were in. “And you don’t have a choice in the matter.”

Luckily, the man didn’t protest at all. 

Getting up, Oikawa busied himself with tidying away the medical supplies, picking up the man’s phone-why did he just toss it on the floor like that-and searching for a phone charger for his own. Even though the connection at the end of the man’s-Oikawa decided to mentally refer to him as Godzilla guy, on account of his lockscreen-mobile phone was different, he still held out hope that maybe he had one similar to Oikawa’s before, or a friend left it here, or something.

It was irrational, but it was something to do. 

When he trailed back into the sitting room half an hour later, he was defeated and wholly wrecked. Collapsing back into the chair, he noted with some irritation that the other was still sound asleep, his cheeks no longer drained of colour. 

“Some people have all the luck,” he whined, recalling how people used to say that about himself. 

Closing his eyes, Oikawa relaxed back into the not-very-comfortable chair, but somehow it seemed like just the right place to take a nap. He’d have a snooze here, and then move to the bedroom, his hazy mind decided vaguely just before he passed out. 


	2. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in this chapter: iwaizumi is shirtless, oikawa blames himself, kyoutani is a sucker for american pop idols, and improvised karaoke.

Iwaizumi woke up with a searing agony across his stomach. He groaned, light splitting through his eyelids as he managed to half-crack one eye open. A shock ran through his system as he saw a pair of knees, elegant hands sprawled over them. Lifting his gaze, Iwaizumi finally recognised the person, with his meticulously groomed appearance-maybe not so perfect now, but still damn close. He could never figure out why someone would put that much time and effort into aesthetic satisfaction. The stranger that Iwaizumi had picked up the night before head was lolling back over the chair, his frame too tall for the average chair back to accommodate. A small sliver of drool had gathered by the corner of his slightly open mouth, soft, airy snores spilling out into the air. Iwaizumi barely held back a snort, thoroughly amused.

Shifting up onto his elbows, Iwaizumi found, to his surprise, that there was a blanket clinging to his form. Thinking back, he couldn't remember flopping onto the couch. He couldn't recall anything past making pasta, when he'd realised just how bad his injuries were. Speaking of...Iwaizumi ripped up his shirt, and his eyebrows flew up to occupy the middle of his forehead. He was fixed up almost as well as he could be, at least without a professional on the scene. It seemed the man had managed to stem the bleeding, and from the raw feel of it, disinfect it without risk of infection too.

"How'd he do that?" Iwaizumi wondered aloud, but keeping his voice quiet.

Despite that, the pretty boy stirred, murmuring some sleep-slurred words.

Light sleeper, huh? 

Glancing over at the clock, Iwaizumi noticed that it was almost ten in the morning. He sat up with a grunt of pain, leaning his back against the armrest. Just his luck to be hurt yet again when he had to work tomorrow. Still, he didn't regret stepping in to save this stranger. He knew firsthand how nasty people around here could be.

Thirst invaded Iwaizumi's tongue suddenly, and he debated between dragging himself painfully to the kitchen or waking the other. After a moment, he detangled his legs from the blanket and placed them on the cool floor. Wincing with the movement, Iwaizumi pressed a hand to the bandages swaddling his skin, unable to stop a hiss swelling out of his throat.

Casting a glance to the guy in the chair, Iwaizumi cursed inwardly. He hadn't woken up yet, but his eyelashes were flickering and his fingers were twitching -yep, definitely waking up. A yawn was stretched out of his mouth, his neck straightening up stiffly as a hand was lifted to rub at one eye.

"Uh, sorry for-" Iwaizumi started to apologise for interrupting his sleep, but was cut off by a horrified yelp.

"I forgot to take off my contacts! Oh noo....!"

The wail left the man as a cry of dismay as he leapt up, eyes watering badly before he raced for the door and vanished out of Iwaizumi's sight. What he didn't vanish out of , however, was Iwaizumi's hearing range. Unfortunately. 

There were many thumps, followed by barely muffled curses, and finally the squeaky sound of the bathroom door swaying open. The number of thumps decreased, yet, interestingly, the number of cusses did not.

Eventually, the man emerged, poised and haughty as ever. Except now, he was sporting a pair of hipster glasses that oddly complimented his slumber-dishevelled hair. Somehow. Iwaizumi feared how bad his bedhead would be if he actually slept in a bed, with an actual pillow instead of draped on top of a chair.

"I told you that you could take the bed," Iwaizumi said, cringing a little at how rough his voice sounded. It always sounded a bit coarse in the morning, but this was ridiculous. 

"Wellllll......" Bedhead answered, dragging out the word. "I passed out in this chair accidentally. Funny, huh? Trust me, I wanted to sleep in the bed."

"Did you patch me up?"

"Mm hmm. Didn't I do a great job?"

"How did you know what to do?"

"It's common sense," he huffed back, folding his arms over his chest. "Plus, my older sister used to want to be a doctor, and it was always me who ended up helping with treating her dolls. I guess I remembered more than I thought."

"Thank your sister for me."

"Hey, it was me who saved your life. I deserve the credit."

" I wouldn’t say you saved my life. And you wouldn't have known how to except for her."

Glasses cocked a hand on his hip, blowing out an exaggerated, offended sigh. "Fine. I'll text her as soon as I get my hands on a charger."

"Oh, I'll lead you back to a part of the town you know this morning," Iwaizumi informed him, standing up with a hidden wince. How did it hurt worse than yesterday?

Glasses' mouth slid outwards into a pout, eyes skipping over Iwaizumi's stooped form. Iwaizumi had to admit to himself that maybe he didn’t look in the condition to go anywhere at the moment.

"I'm getting breakfast first."

"Fine, whatever," Iwaizumi said, hobbling into the kitchen, pouring himself a generous pint of water.

"By the way, I'm Oikawa Tooru."

Oikawa sidled up beside him, resting his elbows on the counter beside him expectantly.

"Iwaizumi," Iwaizumi said before he tipped the water back down his throat. Dropping the glass back down, he turned to Oikawa, wiping a few stray droplets off his chin with the back of his hand. "Hajime. Iwaizumi Hajime. Pleased to meet you." Iwaizumi stuck out his hand. 

Oikawa mumbled something as they shook hands, so quiet Iwaizumi barely caught it. It sounded like “they’re green,” but that made no sense.

“Did you say something?”

Oikawa smiled at him, a smile Iwaizumi didn’t feel any honest warmth from. 

“I was just thinking that it’s a bit late for introductions, isn’t it? We came across each other last night, and I only know your name now.”

Shrugging, Iwaizumi slipped into a chair nearby. 

“There was no need to introduce ourselves. What do you want for breakfast?”

There was a knock on the door, loud and demanding. Several others followed, leading Iwaizumi to fear for the door’s wellbeing. Oikawa jumped slightly, regarding the door warily. 

“I look a mess, I need to fix myself up first,” Oikawa said, his voice slurring into a whine. 

“Chill, he won’t care,” Iwaizumi said, heading over to the door and opening it. “Hello, Kyoutani.”

Kyoutani was a year younger than Iwaizumi, but still as tall as him, which annoyed him to no end. He may have eventually reached 180 centimetres, but Kyoutani had reached it effortlessly, not to mention earlier. His hair was short and dyed entirely blonde, except for two stripes circling his head. His black-rimmed eyes were usually glowering, but Iwaizumi sensed something...softer about this glare. Glancing down, Iwaizumi noticed two colourful cartons in his grip, and nodded to himself. That explained it. He’d just bought his favourite food. 

"You look pale."

"I'm feeling a bit sick," Iwaizumi lied.

Kyoutani brushed past him into the kitchen, where he surveyed Oikawa silently,cautiously. Iwaizumi followed, noting with some surprise how Oikawa was staring him down steadily. Before Iwaizumi could introduce them, Oikawa extended a hand gracefully, declaring, "Oikawa Tooru. Pleased to meet you."

Kyoutani didn't respond, only backing up a step. Frowning-it was like Kyoutani to ignore people, particularly new ones, but not to withdraw, not at all-Iwaizumi went over to him and dragged him back.

"Kyoutani,” Iwaizumi hissed sternly, his meaning clear.

Grumbling, Kyoutani begrudgingly took Oikawa's hand and shook it roughly before dropping it instantly. Iwaizumi shrugged, looking over at Oikawa apologetically as Kyoutani flopped into a kitchen chair, chomping away on some fried chicken bits.

“Why is he so rude?” Oikawa huffed out, slouching sideways to rest his arm on the cooker. 

“He’s like that to everyone.”

“Not you, apparently.”

“He only acknowledged me after I beat him in a series of challenges,” Iwaizumi explained.

“What kind of challenges? “

“Athletic ones, like baseball, cross-country, sprinting, arm wrestling. Stuff like that.”

“Arm wrestling? That hardly counts as athletic. I was an athlete, and I never won an arm wrestling match.”

“Never?” Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow. “What a coincidence. I’ve never lost one.”

“That’s impossible. Stop bragging.”

“I’ll prove it,” Iwaizumi stated simply, placing his elbow on the table. He looked up at Oikawa expectantly, wondering if he was going to fall for the bait or not. 

“Hmmm…”

Oikawa tilted his head back, putting on a thoughtful expression. Kyoutani was sniggering quietly under his breath, but apart from that, everything was silent. For a second.

“Baah, you really thought I’d be provoked so easily?” Oikawa stuck out his tongue at Iwaizumi, cocking his hands on his hips. “No way.”

“Guess you’re smarter than you look.” Iwaizumi withdrew his hand, shrugging. “Worth a shot.”

“Nobody could be lured in by that. It was completely obvious what you were trying to do,” Oikawa continued, voice full of pride. 

Iwaizumi glanced over at Kyoutani, who wasn’t sniggering any more. “Nobody but you, it seems.”

“Shut up,” Kyoutani growled, but a pink flush was forming on his face. “I wasn’t provoked into it. I challenged you.”

“What about the second time?”

Kyoutani went redder. Iwaizumi chuckled, slapping him on the back fondly. 

“Don’t worry about it. I know you’re a smart kid.”

“I’m a year younger than you.”

“Kid,” Iwaizumi insisted. 

“This is heart-warming and all, but I need food,” Oikawa interrupted smoothly, going through Iwaizumi’s cupboards with a displeased expression. “Do you have nothing sweet in your house?”

“Who has sweet things for breakfast?” Iwaizumi deadpanned.

“Blondie over there is having chicken for his, and you don’t seem bothered by that,” Oikawa retaliated instantly, moving to Iwaizumi’s fridge to snoop around some more. 

“By the way, Kyoutani, why do you have an empty carton?” Iwaizumi questioned, looking at the cartoon chicken printed on the front.

Kyoutani averted his gaze for an instant and mumbled something Iwaizumi didn’t catch.

“What?”

“I said they’re hard to throw away,” Kyoutani muttered. “They’re cute.”

Picking the cardboard container up, Iwaizumi smiled as he saw the cartoon chicken on the front, shiny eyes with two little wings raised in the air. 

“True,” Iwaizumi agreed, plopping it back onto the table. “Do you want me to throw it away for you?”

Kyoutani looked like he was in physical pain, his face screwed up with indecision.

“Or you could collect them instead,” Iwaizumi suggested, taking pity on him. 

The frustration lifted from Kyoutani’s face, relief relaxing his sharp features.

“Maybe,” he concluded, taking the cardboard and shoving it in his pocket. 

“Oh my god, is this really all you have?” 

Sighing, Iwaizumi rotated back towards Oikawa, who was staring at him and shaking his head in disappointment.

“Are you always this rude and judgmental?” Iwaizumi asked, completely baffled. “Aren’t people supposed to be polite to people they’ve just met?”

“I like to skip that part,” Oikawa shrugged. “It’s easier to find out what people are actually like if you’re rude to them.”

Iwaizumi shook his head in disbelief, leaning back against the kitchen table. “You’re really weird.”

“Now you’re the being rude,” Oikawa shot back, running his hands through the strands of his hair. “Do you own a hairbrush?”

“Contrary to what you may think, I do.” Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, deciding that he didn’t need to treat Oikawa like a guest anymore. If Oikawa didn’t treat him respectfully, why should he? “It’s in the bedroom, if you want to know.”

“I’ll have breakfast first.” Oikawa reached up to a cupboard and selected the most sugary cereal he could find. Iwaizumi had bought it once, just to try it, because Bokuto was raving about it, but hated it. He’d never touched it since, but it had solved the mystery as to why Bokuto was so energetic constantly. 

“Pretty sure that’s a couple of years out of date,” he said, just so Oikawa didn’t poison himself under his roof.

“Sugar never expires,” Oikawa answered smoothly, finding Iwaizumi’s stock of bowls and spoons, bounding down the kitchen to seat himself beside Kyoutani. Kyoutani didn’t exactly look happy about it, but kept eating his chicken with only a sidelong glare. Oikawa didn’t seem to notice.Heaving a sigh, Iwaizumi crossed the few steps to the fridge and pulled out the milk, thumping it down in front of Oikawa. 

“You forgot this.”

Oikawa’s shit-eating, smug smile made Iwaizumi think he forgot it on purpose.

“Thank you~” Oikawa almost sang out, winking amiably at him. “Are you having anything?”

Iwaizumi scowled back at him. “I’m going to shower first, not that it’s any business of yours.”

Hopping off of the chair, Kyoutani ambled into the living room and spread himself out on the couch, punching the button on the remote to switch it on.

“You’re both so grumpy in the mornings,” Oikawa noted casually, pouring the milk into the bowl.

“It’s you that’s making me grumpy.” Iwaizumi stared at him. “Are you seriously putting in the milk first?”

Oikawa blinked innocently. “Doesn’t everyone?”

Iwaizumi draped himself over the table, his torso twinging in pain as he held his head in his hands. “Why the hell did I bring you to my apartment?”

“Probably because you were wounded, and you judged that you didn’t have time to guide me back and get home before you passed out from blood loss,” Oikawa said cheerfully. 

Surprised, Iwaizumi glanced up, at Oikawa’s bulging cheeks as he chomps away on whatever sickeningly sweet cereal he chose. Because that was exactly it. He would’ve let Oikawa go then and there, but he knew he couldn’t manage to take him back and get home. 

“You’re right, but now I’m starting to think I would’ve preferred to pass out on the street.”

“You’re so mean,” Oikawa complained, but Iwaizumi didn’t think any of what he said actually got to him. He was slowly gathering together a mental picture of Oikawa, and he reckoned he had concrete skin approximately five feet thick. Otherwise, he wouldn’t say those things to him. 

“I’ll be back in a bit. Try not to scare Kyoutani any more.”

“Scare him?”

Iwaizumi grinned at Oikawa, cupping the side of his mouth with one palm. “He’s shy, so be gentle with him, okay?”

Swallowing a mouthful, Oikawa returned the grin, and this time Iwaizumi felt some honesty from it. 

“I’ll try my best,” Oikawa shrugged.”But I can be very intimidating, so don’t blame me if you come back and he’s shaking.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Iwaizumi snorted, making Oikawa pout. “You aren’t that scary.”

Before he could defend himself, Iwaizumi slipped out of the kitchen and into the bathroom. Closing the door, Iwaizumi shut his eyes in relief. Finally, he could release the groan of pain that he was holding in all morning. Collapsing on top of the toilet seat, Iwaizumi tried to control his heavy breaths, but every flex of his stomach sent a jolt of agony through his body.

“This is going to be fun,” Iwaizumi muttered, straightening unsteadily to open the cabinet, selecting the sutures, antiseptic and a pair of tweezers. He knew the gash wasn’t going to heal over correctly on its own-it was too wide, and so it was up to him to do the bitter work. Stripping off his ruined shirt, he took down a fresh, small towel and some tissue.After that, with a slow hiss, he unwrapped his main wound, raw and gaping. Okay. That was all, at least for now.

Deep breaths, Iwaizumi reminded himself as he slid home the bathroom lock, clamping his teeth down on the towel. He didn’t want to alarm Kyoutani or Oikawa, and this needed to be finished as soon as possible. Hopefully Kyoutani was occupied rewatching the Notebook or something, and Oikawa...he didn’t know. Maybe washing up after himself, although somehow Iwaizumi thought there was a slim chance of that happening. Oikawa had hardly been the perfect model guest so far. 

Shaking his head, Iwaizumi got control of his thoughts again. Stop delaying. Leaving the tweezers dipped in the open disinfectant bottle, Iwaizumi ripped open the sutures, laying it on the tissue. Picking up the tweezers, he closed the tips around the hook’s base. With his other hand, he pressed the edges of his skin together at the start of the gash, under his breast. The sharp hook slid into his skin smoothly, and Iwaizumi swallowed harshly, inhaling abruptly. Rotating the tweezers, he waited until the tip of the hook shone through the other side of his slashed skin before exhaling, slow and controlled. Pulling it taunt, the thread tightened, and some of the chasm in his flesh closed up as sweat rolled off his chin.

Only a hundred more stitches to go, Iwaizumi told himself grimly. Not too bad, right?

\------

Oikawa was bored. Kyoutani wouldn’t talk to him, and Iwaizumi was taking almost as long as Oikawa would in the bathroom. Sighing dramatically, Oikawa stared emptily at the television, currently turned to MTV, Adele blasting out the speakers. Dangling over the sofa, he asked Kyoutani dryly, “really?”

Kyoutani ignored him. Meh. He couldn’t really judge, Oikawa supposed, recalling his music library of solid Taylor Swift. Mixed in with some Bring Me The Horizon and Kpop. Just the essentials. He wondered what Iwaizumi listened to, then made up his mind to break into his phone next time he got his hands on it. And if he locked it for a few hours, oh well. 

His expression turning stormy, Oikawa stuck out his lips into a pout. He really needed to clean himself up in the bathroom, because he looked an absolute mess. There was no way he was leaving this apartment with his hair looking like this. The company was nice too, he supposed, going over the conversations he and Iwaizumi had had so far. 

Wait. 

He’d said that he owned a hairbrush, right? Oikawa could fix himself up half-decently with that, despite the lack of any hairspray or hair dryer. With the state of Iwaizumi’s short, spiked hair, Oikaw highly doubted he had ever used them in his life. Maybe he didn’t even know what they were. Nah, that’s too far, since the names were pretty self-explanatory. Raising himself up off of the back of the couch, Oikawa headed for the bedroom, and placed his hand on the doorknob.

“Oh my god, nooo…”

Oikawa twisted the knob left, then right, then tugged it outwards in anger. It was as stiff and uncooperative as ever, and the amount of Oikawa’s patience was measurable on on hand. 

“Open, you stupid thing,” Oikawa hissed out menacingly, jerking the knob dangerously. 

“Oikawa, please don’t break my door,” echoed out of the bathroom beside him.

“Well, how else am I supposed to open it?!”

“I’ll be there in a second. Just be patient.”

Oikawa’s answering sigh was audible even to Kyoutani in the other room, who didn’t care. 

In the bathroom, Iwaizumi grimaced, tying off the last knot. He really should leave the door open in future. Snipping the thread, Iwaizumi spat out the towel, damp from all the muffled grunts and stood up. He examined his handiwork briefly before drawing back the bolt, thinking nothing of his discarded shirt. Oikawa had already seen his wounds anyway, and he knew for certain Kyoutani wouldn’t move from the couch until he was hungry again. 

When Iwaizumi emerged from the bathroom, Oikawa didn’t really look at him at first. He was too pissed off at the fucking doorknob, which was starting to look annoyingly like Ushiwaka’s face. 

“Here.” Iwaizumi stepped past Oikawa’s folded arms and jiggled the lock a little. 

Oikawa’s breathing stopped halfway to his lungs. His eyes were resting on Iwaizumi’s bent neck, but his gaze quickly tore downwards, unbidden. Holy shit, Oikawa appraised, raising his eyebrows. Iwaizumi’s back was….well, in a word, spectacular. Muscles laced his shoulders, shifting just underneath his dark skin as he wiggled the knob once again. Firm and well-built, but not overly...bulky, Oikawa supposed was the word, but he was having a difficult time thinking of any words but  _ perfect _ .

A click sounded through Oikawa’s fuzzy mind, and Iwaizumi retreated, eyes flickering over to Oikawa.

“Happy now? What did you want in there anyway?”

“Hairbrush,” Oikawa managed, after a second of slowed-down word processing.

“Oh, yeah.”

Slipping back into the bathroom, Iwaizumi released a breath and slid the bolt home again. Time for a shower.

Oh no, Oikawa thought, blankly staring into the bedroom, and now painfully aware that Iwaizumi possessed a  _ damn fine body.  _ Squaring his shoulders, Oikawa huffed out a sigh and put his mind in order. So he had a nice body. Oikawa wasn’t hanging around for that reason. 

He just had four free days, and he didn’t have anything else to do. He was sick of his old routine , loitering around his empty house all day alone then going out at night to get wasted and hook up with someone he’d never see again.

“I’m sure I’ll annoy him soon enough, and he’ll politely kick me out,” Oikawa predicted, the corners of his mouth pulling up into a grim smile. 

In the meantime, however…

“Why didn’t I ask him where it was?” Oikawa groaned out in frustration, peering into the top drawer-who doesn’t put their brush on the top of their dresser?- which turned out to be his underwear drawer. Oikawa made a face and moved on, praying he didn’t come across anything more awkward. 

Fortunately, he didn’t, but no hairbrush either. Nowhere, and Oikawa checked everywhere, rifled through the entire wardrobe, through every single drawer.

Even the underwear one.

And Oikawa’s hair was double the mess it was when he started, from all his frustrated hand gestures. He really should learn to get that under control sometime. 

“That’s it. I’m done.” Oikawa fumed, storming out of the room and slamming the door shut before he thought better of it. 

That made him feel more like shit.

“Oi, keep it down, would you? I have neighbours.”

“It wasn’t there!” Oikawa protested, approaching the bathroom door. “I still look awful.”

“Hold on a second…” 

Oikawa leaned his shoulder against the wall opposite the bathroom, waiting impatiently to the sound of Rihanna blasting from the tv. “Kyoutani’s making more noise than I am, why aren’t you telling him off instead?”

“His tv’s broken, so I feels sorry for him,” Iwaizumi explained through the door, muffled sounds of rustling coming through. 

“My phone’s dead, and yet you don’t feel sorry for me?” 

“I feel no pity whatsoever.”

Rolling his eyes, Oikawa knocked the back of his head against the wall in irritation.

“Just tell me where the brush is.”

The door swung open, and Iwaizumi, fully dressed, handed Oikawa a hairbrush.

“Here.”

“I hate you,” slipped out of Oikawa’s mouth accidentally. Cringing internally, he took the brush-dark hairs sticking out everywhere, ew-knowing full well Iwaizumi could take it the wrong way. He hadn’t even known the guy a day, and yet Oikawa slid perfectly into smartass mode, completely skipping over the usual charm he oozed.

“Sorry, I forgot I used it in the shower last time,” Iwaizumi said, slinging a towel over his head and ruffling it as he headed into the kitchen. “My bad.”

Relieved that he didn’t overreact, Oikawa shuffled into the bathroom, waving a hand to disperse the steam, but there was barely any.

“I bet he’s one of those freaks who like cold showers,” Oikawa muttered, halting in front of the mirror. “Oh, god.”

His hair was even messier than it felt, and as Oikawa examined what few-pitifully few, in Oikawa’s opinion-hair products Iwaizumi owned, he felt his heart sink further. He had quite a job ahead of him to make himself presentable.

“Don’t interrupt me for at least two hours,” he called out pointedly as he shut the door firmly. 

“Two hours? What the fuck?” Iwaizumi yelled back, to which there was no answer. 

Shrugging it off, Iwaizumi changed into some non-ruined clothes from his bedroom-noticing some things were out of place, Oikawa really did check everywhere-and plopped down beside Kyoutani. 

“Now it’s Lady Gaga?” 

“She has good style,” Kyoutani replied. 

A few minutes later, a knock disturbed the relatively peaceful atmosphere. Heaving himself up off of the sofa, Iwaizumi opened the door and instantly regretted it. Two men were standing there, men he  recognised as friends of the ones from last night. They had the same glint in their eyes, eager and ruthless. 

“I heard that you were batting for the other team, if you know wh-”

Bam. 

Iwaizumi had tried to snap the door shut again, but all the motion did was reverberate off a solid boot jammed in the doorway. 

A snide, “pussy,” comment had the duo sniggering. 

“I don’t want to deal with you lot right now. Leave.”

Iwaizumi’s voice was quiet, but firm and steady. He didn’t want to have this trouble to handle, and definitely not while he was still injured. 

“All we want is a chat, to clarify some things Hana told us. Don’t be so hostile, Hajime.”

Stiffening at the mention of his name, Iwaizumi fought to keep a neutral expression. He never was one for keeping his cool, especially with this. This hit too close to home. The man, bits of fish stuck in his beard, leered at Iwaizumi through the narrow gap in the door, stinking breath slamming him in the face. 

“Faggot.”

There was a creak from the sitting room as Iwaizumi stared back steadily, eyebrows drawing lower and lower. He was straining, gradually placing more and more pressure on the door. He’d break the man’s foot if he had to. Kyoutani appeared at his side silently, eyes so narrowed they almost vanished into the meanness of his glare. The foot slid back just the tiniest fraction.

“Mad Dog. Long time no see. How’re you holding up?”

“Go,” Kyoutani spat out. 

“Ah now, don’t be like that.”

The shit-talker’s buddy shuffled uneasily behind him, whispering in a voice Iwaizumi barely picked up. “You didn’t tell me that  _ he- _ ”

“Shut up,” the other hissed, but his foot retreated back a little more. “It doesn’t matter if the mutt is here or not.”

“If that’s all you have to say, walk on.” Iwaizumi, determined to have them out of here, leaned even more of his weight on the door. “Before you have to limp away.”

Oh wow, great comeback Hajime, Iwaizumi thought, fighting the urge to cringe. 

“Just a warning, mate. There won’t be any bents in this neighbourhood.”

“You shouldn’t believe a thing that comes out of Hana’s mouth,” Iwaizumi growled back. 

“I should. She’s usually right. You know, I had my suspicions about you for a while, hanging around with those rejects, but now I know for certain. What did Hana say again?”

He glanced behind him for support, and the other supplied, “that there was no way in hell the guy he brought back had ever been inside a woman.”

Nodding purposefully, he turned back to Iwaizumi, who was glaring steadfastly back at him.

“That doesn’t mean shit.”

“Mm, then why did you bring him back to your place? He wouldn’t be still here, would he, by any chance?”

“I don’t need to explain myself to the likes of you. Kyoutani-”

The man raised his hands placatingly. “There’s no need for this to get violent, unlike last night. Didn’t walk out of that one unharmed, right? If I was you, I’d avoid another scuffle until you healed fully.”

Kyoutani’s fist flashed through the narrow gap and straight into his nose. A crack was heard as the man wheeled backwards frantically, clutching at his nose as crimson gushed out between his fingers. 

“Son of a bit-!”

His cry was cut off by Iwaizumi slamming the door closed, hooking in the chain quickly. He didn’t feel relaxed at all, even though they’d been dealt with, for now. It just forecast more trouble down the line. 

“Kicking his foot out of the way would’ve been enough,” he told Kyoutani. 

Kyoutani shrugged. “It wouldn’t have felt as satisfying.”

One corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth raised, and he shook his head, trying to hide his pride. 

“Nonetheless, thank you.”

“You’re not sick, you’re injured. Badly, from the way he was speaking,” Kyoutani commented, his gaze flaring up. “What happened last night?”

“I stepped into something I probably shouldn’t have,” Iwaizumi explained, blowing out a breath. “I didn’t think it would cause this much hassle, though.”

“It has to do with him, right?” Kyoutani jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom. 

Iwaizumi nodded, and that seemed to satisfy Kyoutani’s curiosity. He rotated around and returned to the sofa. Iwaizumi followed him gladly. A few seconds later, the specific creak sounded, signifying the bathroom door was opening. Oikawa padded into the living room, his hair slightly less messy. 

“What was that?” he asked, chewing on his lower lip. 

“Some guys looking for trouble,” Iwaizumi answered. “Don’t worry about it.”

As Oikawa drew closer, Iwaizumi realised just how spooked he looked, with shoulders bunched up around his ears and his eyes slightly wider than normal. 

“It was because of me, wasn’t it?”

“I told you, don’t worry about it. It has nothing to do with you anymore.”

At Oikawa’s silence, Iwaizumi frowned, a crease forming between his brow. Oikawa’s hands were curling up into his clothes, fidgeting with the sides of his skinny jeans.

“It’s because I look like this, isn’t it?”

Iwaizumi rose up from his seat, gaze growing concerned. Oikawa looked upset-more distressed than he should be, as if he was blaming himself for bringing all of this on Hajime.

Which was exactly what was happening, Iwaizumi realised with a sinking feeling. 

“Oikawa, “he says softly, grasping him by one shoulder and steering him into the kitchen. “It’s not your fault. I chose to step in and help you, so-”

“You shouldn’t have. I can handle myself,” Oikawa pulled away from Iwaizumi, his lips rolled up in a half-snarl. “Now you’re being threatened because you took me in, because I stupidly followed you. I’ll leave now. Give me directions and I’ll go.”

Hajime blinked, the fact that Oikawa wasn’t in a good state to go anywhere slowly filtering through. 

“Don’t go out just yet,” he found himself saying, tone firm but reassuring. “I don’t want you bumping into any of those guys, and you stink. Have a shower first, and I’ll lend you a change of clothes. Then, we can discuss you leaving again. Sound good?”

Biting into his lip, Oikawa lowered his head. “I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness any longer.”

“It’s called hospitality, and it’s rude if you don’t accept it,” Hajime declared, poking Oikawa in the shoulder so he looked up again. He smiled as their eyes met, and Oikawa’s hands slowly let go of the fabric of his jeans. 

“Okay,” Oikawa agreed, the tension in his shoulders unwinding.

“Plus,” Iwaizumi added, “ Not everything is because of you. Thinking that is just being selfish.”

Immediately, Iwaizumi raised his hands, worried that the statement might’ve been too harsh. 

“Sor-”

“You’re right,” Oikawa interrupted him, a gentle smile gracing his lips. “I’m sorry for being selfish. It’s a habit of mine, because I’m so flawless.”

Iwaizumi tried to be annoyed, but it was hard, feeling the relief flow through his body. 

“Your ego is bigger than your hair, you know that?”

“According to my fangirls, it’s not the only thing I have that’s bigger than my hair.”

“You are so immature,” Iwaizumi said, slapping a hand over his face. “And whoa, you have fangirls?”

“I had more in high school, but right now it’s a nice little group. Very dedicated,” Oikawa smirked, making Iwaizumi want to hit him. 

“Go have a shower, for fuck’s sake, before your ego and your armpits stink up my kitchen.” Iwaizumi swatted at Oikawa’s arm, pushing him towards the doorway. 

“You’re rude to your guests, Iwaizumi Hajime,” Oikawa whined out as he grew nearer to the bathroom. 

“I’m only rude to those who are arrogant and egocentric,” Iwaizumi answered steadily, giving him a final little shove into the hallway. “You’ll find fresh towels in the cupboard under the sink, and remove your hair from the plughole.”

“I’m not a savage,” Oikawa protested, turning around and wiggling his fingers in what seemed to be an attempt at a cute wave before entering the bathroom. Iwaizumi reckoned that it was the wave the fangirls went crazy over, if he wasn’t lying about them. He thought not. Oikawa would be the type of pretty boy girls go crazy over. Scratching the side of his head, Iwaizumi returned to the sofa, glad he was able to ease Oikawa’s mind. Kyoutani had put on a movie Iwaizumi didn’t recognise, which was weird. He was using Iwaizumi’s DVD collection, after all. Soon after, Kyoutani’s phone dinged. He glanced at it and got up, grabbing his jacket slung over the side of the couch. 

“Yahaba?” Iwaizumi questioned.

“Yeah. He wants to try out this new restaurant or something.” 

“Have fun,” Iwaizumi responded automatically. “I’ll see you around.”

Kyoutani nodded, Iwaizumi frowning as he watched him leave. Were his ears tinged pink? Hajime shrugged it off, returning to the movie. He probably imagined it. 

Another fifteen minutes or so, and Iwaizumi was growing drowsy, utterly bored with the film. It was about...what again? A girl, that much he knew. Probably rebelling against the government system in place or something. Yawning, Iwaizumi heard a creak, and turned his head to see Oikawa, a towel secured around his waist and his hair flattened down, walking in. Lanky, Iwaizumi thought. He wasn’t skinny, but rather lithe, his muscles elegant rather than the harsh forms Iwaizumi was used to seeing when he looked in the mirror. 

“Where’s the angry guy gone?” Oikawa questioned, dragging the hairbrush down his hair as he splayed himself out next to Hajime.

“A restaurant.”

“Ooh, a date?”

“Nah.”

“Are you sure? Friends don’t go to restaurants together. Friends go to a cheap fast food place.”

“If he and Yahaba are dating, he hasn’t told me.”

“They don’t have to tell you! You should pick up on the chemistry between them and how they act around each other and guess! And if they’re not, make it your mission to irritate them into dating. That’s what I did with Makki and Mattsun.”

“Your friends must love having you around,” Iwaizumi deadpanned.

“Don’t act like you’re not one of them.”

“Huh?”

“One of my friends.”

“I know you for….” There was a pause as Iwaizumi took in the time and calculated. “Fourteen hours, I think.”

“And you’ve been around me constantly since then.”

“I wasn’t there in the bathroom with you.”

“Almost constantly. This might be just me, but don’t you feel comfortable around me? I don’t feel like you’re a stranger.” Oikawa shifted around, his eyes darting down to the floor nervously. Iwaizumi finally registered that this conversation was difficult for him, the thought that Iwaizumi would flat out contradict him. Hajime wasn’t used to dealing with guys like this at all, guys who overthought the simplest things to him. To Iwaizumi, if you enjoyed someone’s company, they were your friend. You didn’t have to ask, or make certain.

And he did enjoy Oikawa’s company, as unusual as it was. His attention drifting back to Oikawa, Iwaizumi immediately picked up on the tiny, worried crease between his brow and the slight roll of his lower lip inwards, and memorised them as signs that his friend was anxious. 

“I guess so,” Iwaizumi conceded.  “I can tolerate your presence.”

Oikawa clapped his hands together in delight. “Great! Now that’s out of the way, there’s something I need to do.”

“You’re not giving me a makeover.”

“That’s not it, but good idea. You really need one. But more importantly, all my friends have cute nicknames, so you need one too!”

“I highly disagree.”

“Hajime-kun!”

“Oh my god, no. No.”

“Iwaizumi’s waaay too long,” Oikawa whined. “And Hajime’s too personal. So I need to christen you something else.”

“Please, don’t. Hajime-san’s fine-”

“I have it!”

“Dear lord.”

“Iwa-chan! Perfect!”

Oikawa grinned widely, obviously pleased with himself at thinking up such a cutesy nickname for the very not-cutesy man. 

“Kill me,” the newly dubbed Iwa-chan deadpanned. 

“I know you like it. Or…” Oikawa scrunched up his nose, thinking. “You’ll get to like it eventually.”

“It’s going to annoy the hell out of me. I can feel it already.”

“Iwa-chan, don’t be so mean! I think it’s adorable.”

“Or I’m going to strangle you someday.”

“Iwa-chaaaaaaaan……” Oikawa dragged it out, a massive grin on his face as he loomed over Hajime’s shoulder. “Iwa-chan~, change the film already.”

“I need to give you a nickname too. How about Trashykawa? Suits your personality pretty well.”

Iwaizumi glanced over and saw Oikawa’s face like he’d never before, honest enjoyment lighting it up, the smile radiant and playful. He felt his heart thud just a little harder.

“That’s the first honest smile you’ve done since I met you,” he breathed out, more softly than he’d intended.

Oikawa’s smile faded, confusion overtaking his brown eyes. 

“What? I always smile honestly.”

“You smile too much for every single one to be honest,” Iwaizumi countered.

“That’s ridiculous.”

Oikawa grinned at him, but it was back to the old one, the one Iwaizumi guessed he flashed at all his fangirls. 

“That smile is forced. How long have you been practising?”

Iwaizumi’s question was straightforward, and to the point. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Oikawa kept up the brilliant, gleaming smile.

“I’ve never seen such a false grin in my life.”

“I...it’s not fake.” 

Oikawa’s blinding grin dimmed at the edges, like an elderly lightbulb growing poorly, tired. 

“I said, how long have you been practising it?”

“No length! It just comes naturally!” 

His smile wavered.

“How long?”

Oikawa’s smile folded in on itself utterly, his entire face dropping. Stooping forward with his elbows on his knees, he cupped his face in his palms.

“I don’t have any other smile.”

“That’s sad.”

Oikawa’s head snapped back up, anger overtaking his shame. 

“It’s better than smiling once a day, like you do,” Oikawa snapped out. 

“When I smile, it’s sincere. Can you say that about yours?”

“Of course!” Oikawa did his trademark, making-fangirls-weak-at-the-knees face, a peace sign thrown up beside a charming grin, one eye winking cheerfully. Covering up his real mood expertly, or so he thought. 

Iwaizumi stared at him, dead unimpressed.

“That’s a horrible expression. How do you even stick out your tongue without biting it off?  It looks like you’ve been through plastic surgery.”

In response, Oikawa stuck out his tongue at him, as far down as it could go. “I know why you’re insulting me. It’s because you can never be as handsome as me. Jealousy isn’t a good look on you, Iwa-chan.” 

“I’m going to change the film,” Iwaizumi announced, pointedly turning away from Oikawa.

“Don’t ignore me!”

“How about you put some actual clothes on first?” 

Oikawa picked at hem of the towel around his waist, his face creasing up into a frown. 

“I’m not wearing my clothes from yesterday. They’re all sweaty and icky.” 

“Borrow mine,” came out of Iwaizumi’s mouth without hesitation. “I think you’ll find something that fits you well enough. You’re a little taller than me, so they might be short on you, but you’ll survive. Also, what about The Conjuring?”

“But that’s so scary,” Oikawa protested, straightening up.

“You don’t like that kind of stuff?”

“No,” Oikawa admitted begrudgingly. “But if you really want to watch it, I can manage.”

“Mm,” Iwaizumi hummed, going back to flicking through the channels and thinking of what DVDs he had. “Then, how about Mulan?”

“Are you joking?” Oikawa asked, but his face brightened.

Iwaizumi met his gaze again, with an utterly straight face. 

“Why would I be joking?”

“In that case, it’s perfect!” Oikawa chirped, flouncing out of the room. “I’ll be back soon.”

Iwaizumi waited for a few seconds, and then it came, the wail of dismay from the hallway.

“IWA-CHAAAN!”

“Yeah, yeah, be right there,” Iwaizumi sighed out, heaving himself to his feet. He really needed to fix that lock.

\----------

Oikawa skipped through his clothes, humming underneath his breath. Digging through his drawers, Oikawa decided that Iwaizumi wouldn’t mind if he borrowed a pair of boxers too. Slipping them on, Oikawa dumped his towel in the doorway and returned to investigating Iwaizumi’s room for the second time that day. Which sounded a little creepy, Oikawa realised as he tugged up the comfortable, but loose, boxers. He shrugged and continued to skim through the mostly plain shirts, jeans and casual t-shirts, along with some training gear. That made sense. There was no way Iwa-chan can have a body like that without working for it, Oikawa knew. Still, he wondered if he ever played a sport. 

“Aha!”

Oikawa pulled out a t-shirt with the words, “Where There’s A Will, There’s A Way,” emblazoned on it. It looked relatively long enough for Oikawa and fresh, likely one of his best t-shirts. Oikawa smirked and threw it on over his head. 

\-----

“Oi, you’re wearing one of my best t-shirts as pyjamas.”

“Is there something wrong with that?” Oikawa replied, depositing himself gracefully next to Iwaizumi. “You told me I could choose anything.”

“I’m pretty certain I didn’t.”

“You did, trust me.”

“I don’t  trust you.”

“I’m hurt, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa placed his hand over his heart, giving Hajime a pitiful look. 

Iwaizumi responded with an eye roll, turning his focus back to the tv. 

“I bet you’re one of those people who talk all during the movie, aren’t you?”

“Of course not,” Oikawa denied, roping his arms around his knees, huddling them to his chest. “Well, not during Disney movies.”

“Then please, let me watch it in peace.”

Oikawa, his chin resting on his knees, blew out an offended breath, but stayed quiet. After a while, he relaxed some more, becoming more accustomed to Iwaizumi’s presence beside him. Halfway in, and Oikawa  heard something he wasn’t expecting. Shooting a sly sideways glance at Iwaizumi, he saw the tiniest movement of his lips and smirked.

“Iwa-chan, if you want to sing along, just do it.”

“I am not singing along,” Iwaizumi defended himself, but his body was swaying in time with “I’ll Make a Man Out of You.” 

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“In that case…” Oikawa grinned, opening his mouth and belting out, “WITH ALL THE FORCE OF A GREAT TYPHOOOOON-”

“Oikawa, oh my god, I have neighbours,” Iwaizumi hissed urgently, a hand slapped over Oikawa’s mouth. “Sing quietly, for fuck’s sake.”

“Only if you sing along too,” Oikawa said through Hajime’s fingers, voice muffled.

Withdrawing his hand with a disgusted expression-Oikawa’s spit was on his hand now, great-Iwaizumi wiped his hand down his shirt and sighed.

“Fine. Just don’t make any more noise.”

Grinning once more, Oikawa started singing again, softer this time, and this time Iwaizumi joined in too. 

“With all the strength of a raging fire, mysterious as the dark side of the moooon…”

Catching a glimpse of Iwaizumi’s face out of the corner of his eye, Oikawa saw his smile, and it was every bit as sincere as he said. Rare, but wonderful. He turned towards him, making eye contact and smiling as he sung on.

“We must be as swift as a coursing river…”

Iwaizumi grinned back, wide and radiant and beautiful, and a warm feeling flowed through Oikawa’s chest. 

It felt like friendship, a different kind of friendship than anything Oikawa had ever experienced. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha me? doing a million self-indulgent lil interactions that has nothing to do with the plot? never. not me.  
> im aiming for weekly updates, and boy i am determined.  
> comments and kudos always loved <3


	3. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the squad arrives, oikawa has a disastrous bedhead, and suga may or may not be banging daichi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all the support omg  
> i really appreciate kudos and comments, and i hope you'll enjoy this chapter  
> and all the banter

 

They ended up watching films for the entire afternoon, the vast majority of them Disney movies. (Luckily, Iwaizumi had them all) Every time Iwaizumi would suggest that they get up, or do anything else than make food and piss, Oikawa would be there on cue, bugging him.

"Only one more, Iwa-chan!"

"It'll only take an hour or so, you can go for a jog afterwards!"

Iwaizumi caved in each and every one of those times, not because of Oikawa's pestering, but because he liked him. He no longer viewed Oikawa as a stranger to get rid of as soon as possible;he enjoyed him being here, and so it was just hanging out with a friend. Simple as.

"You need to move into the bed, before we fall asleep," Iwaizumi yawned out, stretching his arms above his head.

"How early do you go to sleep at?" Oikawa asked in surprise, his eyebrows disappearing up into his hair draped over his forehead. "It's like twelve."

"I have work tomorrow, so I can't stay up late."

"This isn't late. I'd usually only be going out at this time."

"How do you think it's a good idea to go out that late? You're at college, right? Don't you need to get up for classes?"

Rolling his eyes, Oikawa brushed off the questions with an airy hand flick.

"You're as bad as my mom. It’s the holidays, for god’s sake, loosen up! And yes, I am at college, I do have classes to get up for, but I'm doing fine."

Iwaizumi looked over at Oikawa in a way that reminded him of his mother right before a lecture.

"It's called being sensible."

"I'm almost twenty-three. It's called living your life and having fun, not that you'd know anything about that."

"God, you're an asshole," Iwaizumi muttered, prodding Oikawa in the ribs. "Move, or I'm kicking you off."

"I don't want to," Oikawa complained, apparently trying to meld his self into the couch. "I'm comfortable."

Scowling, Iwaizumi rotated around so he could press his foot against Oikawa's hip threateningly. "Move," he repeated in a low growl.

"This is bullying," Oikawa announced, attempting to twist away from the heel digging into his waist, but the couch wasn't that large. Iwaizumi shoved him, hard, and Oikawa ended up sprawled on the floor, hurt written all over his face. 

“I’m going to have a bruise here, and it’s all going to be your fault,” he announced haughtily, rubbing at the side of his hip. 

“Whatever. Get ready for bed already.”

Oikawa straightened up with the easy grace of paper unfurling, brushing himself clean of whatever invisible dirt he saw. Hajime lumbered tiredly past him into the bathroom, and picked up a toothbrush, but it wasn’t long before Oikawa appeared in the reflection too.

“Do you mind if I borrow a toothbrush?”

“Yes,” Hajime answered with a mouthful of foam as Oikawa grabbed one of the brushes from the cabinet shelf.

“Thanks!” Oikawa flashed him a grin and a quick peace sign before he plastered Iwaizumi’s toothpaste across the bristles. “Knew you’d come through for me.”

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi spat out into the sink and then tried to rinse, but for some reason there was a pressure on his shoulder.

“Oikawa, stop pushing.”

Oikawa mumbled something completely indistinct. 

“What?”

Oikawa repeated his sentence, taking the toothbrush out so he was slightly more distinct.

“Why do you need the mirror?” Iwaizumi questioned in exasperation, utterly bemused. “You’re. Brushing. Your. Teeth.”

Shrugging, Oikawa resumed cleaning his teeth, pushing harder against Iwaizumi’s shoulder. Iwaizumi refused to move, instead bending down into the sink to rinse out his mouth. At the same time, Oikawa spat into the ceramic bowl. Snapping back up, Iwaizumi glowered at Oikawa, feeling the white spray sink into the side of his head, through his thick hair.

“You’re a piece of shit.”

“Bad timing,” Oikawa blinked with those large, beseeching brown eyes. “Total accident.”

Letting out a sharp grunt, Iwaizumi towelled off the side of his head-especially his ear, that was fucking gross-and left the room without a word. He could not believe Oikawa had fangirls, no matter how good-looking he was, with that shitty personality. He could be entertaining at times, yes, but Iwaizumi bet he could count the number of endearing qualities he had on one hand. In contrast, he’d need four extra hands to count his irritating traits. Snorting, Iwaizumi got his spare futon down out of the top of his wardrobe-he’d forgotten he had it-and blew the dust off of it, spreading it out beside his bed. He considered making Oikawa sleep on the floor, then shook his head. He didn’t mind, after all. 

A few moments after, the bedroom door jiggled impatiently, and Oikawa’s high-pitched voice jittered through Iwaizumi’s head.

“Iwa-chan! You aren’t that mad about the spit, are you? Let me in.”

“Yeah, yeah, coming,” Iwaizumi called back, reaching over to fix his bedsheets and fluff up the pillow quickly before letting him in. 

“I’m still taking the bed,” Oikawa announced the second he saw the futon on the floor.

“You’d better get in it before I change my mind.”

Oikawa obeyed, to Iwaizumi’s surprise, wriggling around to get comfortable. 

“You don’t snore, do you, Iwa-chan? I bet you do. You seem like the type.”

Pulling out some comfy pyjamas, Hajime snapped back, “I don’t. Go to sleep.”

“Going to change in front of me? You have no shame,” Oikawa said, totally passing over Iwaizumi’s words. 

When Iwaizumi glowered over at him, he buried down further into the sheets, duvet tugged up to just below his nose, the edges of his grin just about visible. “Not that I mind, I’ll just be traumatised for eternity,” he continued, eyes opening wide in a show of innocence. “I’m a pure being, you couldn’t-ow!”

Hitting him on the side of his head on the way out, Iwaizumi shook his head in exasperation, changing as soon as he stepped onto the bathroom. Oikawa was unbelievable sometimes, and Iwaizumi couldn’t figure out if that was a good or a bad thing. Interestingly enough though, when Hajime returned, Oikawa was passed out, curled up in his bed. Iwaizumi spotted some drool already leaking out the side of his mouth and sighed quietly, slipping into the futon. 

He’d make Oikawa wash the pillow cover tomorrow, because that was just gross. 

\-------------

Iwaizumi woke up with his phone vibrating right next to his head. Fumbling with it through bleary eyes, he answered it without even looking at the writing. 

“Hello?” He mumbled sleepily, rolling onto his front. 

“Hajime-san? We’re outside your door, if you could-oh wait, Bokuto’s already in, nevermind now we’re in your house-”

Iwaizumi groaned, hanging up on Akaashi, the only one actually polite enough to let him know the trio were coming. He heard muffled voices outside his door and let out an even longer groan. 

“I hate this damn door. Akaashi?”

“I got it.”

There was a few moments of struggling, then the smooth click of a lock obeying. 

“It’s like witnessing a miracle every time.”

The next second, his bedroom door was jangling and two warm bodies were suddenly thrown on top of him. 

“What are you going still in bed? It’s the afternoon!”

“It’s nine o’ clock.”

“It’s like the afternoon,” Bokuto amended, rolling over onto Iwaizumi’s lower back.

“Please get off of me,” Iwaizumi mumbled tiredly. “I’m already regretting giving you a key to my home. I need peace and quiet.”

“Nice to see you too,” Kuroo shot back, deliberately prodding his sharp elbows into Iwaizumi’s back. “Who’s the guy in the bed?”

Bokuto was already eyeing up Oikawa, whose hair was spread out into an absolute mess. “He looks familiar. Have we met him before?”

“I don’t think so,” Iwaizumi muttered. 

Bokuto furrowed his brow. “Does his name start with a y?”

“No. Why would you ask that?”

“Mm,” Kuroo hummed out, gaze flickering over Oikawa’s sleeping form. Iwaizumi had no idea how he was still sleeping through all this, but he supposed that they had watched movies until quite late last night. “I think he’s more a ‘K’ sort of person. Kei?”

“Nah, I’m guessing Moniwa.”

Iwaizumi groaned, trying to resist the urge to smother himself, or possibly Kuroo, with his pillow. “Why don’t you just ask me his name? You’re both wrong, by the way.”

“Bokuto-san once guessed correctly who was calling on the phone, and now he and Kuroo are having a competition to see who’s more psychic,” Akaashi explained calmly, as if that was normal behaviour.

“More psychic?” Iwaizumi asked in total bemusement, then released a sigh of resignation at Akaashi’s expression. “Alright, alright, I get it. Don’t ask.”

“Dude, he’s totally the type of guy to have a fancy name. I’m just getting that vibe.”

“What’s a fancy name?”

“I don’t know, something with a lot of syllables.”

“Like?”

“Like Nobuyuki, or something.”

“How is Nobuyuki complicated?”

At this point in the conversation, Iwaizumi totally tuned out and turned his face up towards Akaashi. “Why are they here?”

“Kuroo-san’s idea. They were bored.”

Iwaizumi pressed his face deeper into the pillows. “I gave him that key for emergencies, not for interrupting my sleep.”

“Normally, you’re awake and dressed by now,” Akaashi rightly pointed out, and his gaze flashed to Oikawa for a brief second. “Is he the reason you’ve slept in? Who is he?”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi grunted out, roughly convulsing his body to rid himself of the two menaces still chatting away about…..something. He couldn’t bring himself to care. It was way too early for any emotions besides irritation. “He’s my friend, I guess.”

“You guess?” Akaashi raised an eyebrow. “How did you come across him?”

“Eh, he followed me back here because he was lost.”

Akaashi’s eyebrow hitched up even higher. “That seems strange.”

“Wasn’t his fault, really. Some assholes were harassing him, so I stepped in, and then he wouldn’t let up until he knew why I did it. By that time, he was lost. I don’t think he knows this area well.”

“Anyone who knows this area well wouldn’t come here,” Kuroo snorted out. “But it sounds just like the sort of impulsive thing you would do, Iwaizumi.” 

“You decided to come to my apartment without any prior warning or planning. You don’t get to lecture me about being impulsive,” Iwaizumi defended himself, heaving himself upright and threading his hands back through his hair. Bokuto and Kuroo were still planted on his feet, but at least he could breathe properly now. 

“I can’t believe he’s still asleep,” Iwaizumi muttered, stealing a glance over at the back of Oikawa’s head. 

“I’ll wake him up,” Bokuto volunteered immediately, scrambling to his feet. 

“Wait, let him sleep.” Hajime stopped him with an outstretched arm, taking pity on him. He knew firsthand how….intense Bokuto’s wakening techniques were. Standing up, Iwaizumi absently scratched his stomach, thinking about what breakfast he could get before work. He had the afternoon shift, so maybe he could have brunch and get away with a run and a quick shower too. 

Akaashi’s gaze flicked downwards to the movement, to the hand slipped under his t-shirt lifting it up and partially exposing the stitched-up wound. Tilting his head to the side, Akaashi asked quietly, “anything else happen that you want to tell us?”

Blinking at Akaashi’s change of tone, Iwaizumi realised what he’d seen, and hastily dropped his hand. “I got into a scuffle, alright? It’s fine now.”

“Holdup, another one?” Bokuto rounded to Iwaizumi’s front, eyebrows furrowed together. “What for this time?”

“Let me guess, has to do with him, right?” Kuroo said, jerking his head towards the bed. “It’s too much of a coincidence.”

“Sort of,” Iwaizumi conceded, shrugging.

“Whaddya mean, sort of?” Bokuto prodded. 

“Look, it doesn’t matter. I fixed myself up, so it’s all good now.” 

Iwaizumi brushed past Akaashi into the hallway, not wanting to talk about it. What was the point? It was over now, or hopefully it was. 

“Huh, not bragging about your heroics? Typical Iwaizumi,” Kuroo teased, trailing after him. “Always the modest one.”

“It really wasn’t heroic. They weren’t good fighters,” Iwaizumi answered, trying to downplay it. “What have you three been up to lately?”

“Smooth change of subject,” Kuroo commented, but he could barely get the sentence out before Bokuto spoke up. And when Bokuto spoke up, it was more like a screech. 

“We played a match against Nittaidai on Friday! Their blockers were so high, but they were sloppy at times, like when they spread their arms, there’s a moment where the space is slightly larger, and the ball gets through-” Bokuto’s arms flew out to demonstrate “-and you have to time it exactly, and it didn’t happen always, but when it did it was like WHOOOO the best feeling ever! Right, Akaaashay?”

“It was quite impressive,” Akaashi agreed, making Bokuto light up. “When he actually managed to make it.”

Bokuto visibly deflated under Kuroo’s snickering and Akaashi’s innocent blinking. “Why do you always do this to me?”

“Nothing could be as intimidating as Kuroo’s blocks, no matter how high they are,” Iwaizumi added, pouring himself some cereal. 

“Heh.” Kuroo grinned, leering over the table at him. “So you admit, that I am the blocking master?”

“The cockblocking master,” Iwaizumi said flatly. 

“Oooooooh,” Bokuto breathed, exchanging a glance with Akaashi. 

Kuroo withdraws, placing a hand on his hip. “Thank you. I am indeed the best at both types of blocking, the sole reason none of you are getting girlfriends before me.”

“But boyfriends are okay?” Bokuto asked hopefully.

“No. No partners until I get one.”

Bokuto slumped over the table dramatically, loudly moaning his exaggerated complaint . “Why don’t you ask Kenma or Tsukki straight out already?”

“I can’t possibly be straightforward.”

“You’re really bitter,” Iwaizumi commented airily as Akaashi pulled up a chair to the table. “Making them jealous isn’t going to work.” 

Kuroo hopped onto the table, sitting cross-legged and Bokuto, surprisingly, sat in the other free chair.  “I am not bitter, I’m simply forcefully  making you three my wingmen. Therefore giving me a better chance of getting a girlfriend.”

“You could’ve just asked us.”

“You need to work on your personality first,” Akaashi slipped in quietly. 

Iwaizumi snorted, milk almost coming out of his nose, and held up a palm. Akaashi high-fived it, a sly smile on his lips as Kuroo turned away from them and towards Bokuto. 

“Wait, what about that guy in your bed-”

“Don’t phrase it like that,” Iwaizumi cut in.

“-does he have a girlfriend? He might know some tricks.”

“I’d be surprised if he did,” Iwaizumi confessed. 

“Even though he’s handsome?” Bokuto asked.

“Even though he’s handsome, he’s an asshole. And he looks pretty gay.”

“Looks gay? Or definitely gay?” Akaashi inquired. 

“It’s none of my business,” Iwaizumi shrugged. “His sexuality is his business, and if he doesn’t want to flaunt it like Kuroo does, I’m not going to interrogate him.”

Akaashi agreed with a soft nod, tapping his elegant  fingers rhythmically on the table. Bokuto followed them briefly before jumping out of his seat, and Iwaizumi’s kitchen got rooted through for the second time in two days, looted once again. 

Iwaizumi, swallowing down a mouthful, broke the comfortable silence. 

"Look, is there any reason for this visit? I'm glad to see you all, but I was hoping to get a run in before work."

"Maaan, you're so responsible," Kuroo sighed out. “You need to ease up.”

"Do we really need a reason to visit?" Bokuto said, mouth full of crisps.

"I know your reason is to solely eat all my food, Bokuto."

"Because you're the only other half-sane person in our friend group," Akaashi stated casually. "I feel like I'd end up like those two if I didn't visit you for a week."

“I’m pretty sure these two couldn’t survive a week without you,” Iwaizumi guessed. "Akaashee, don't be so mean," Bokuto wailed out, feigning hurt.

"After all, we've been trying to crack you for years and it hasn't worked yet, which is amazing," Kuroo also commented. "Basically, fuck your  level headedness."

"That's an odd way of complimenting me, but thank you. Although Kenma's even more unbelievable."

"Mm, he is impressive. I don't think I could withstand Kuroo's provoking for a week without strangling him, never mind years."

Finishing his breakfast, Iwaizumi effortlessly wound past Kuroo's vicious kick and dumped his bowl in the sink. Half nine. Oikawa's had enough of a lie in.

"I'm gonna go wake up Oikawa," Iwaizumi told them.

"Ah yes, bring in the fresh meat."

Kurok had a dangerous glint in his eye which didn't impress Iwaizumi.

"Don't try to act all gangster and cool, or I'll tell him when you cried while watching Finding Nemo."

"Who didn't cry though?"

"Akaashey," Bokuto supplied with wide eyes. "It was scary."

"Dude, what the hell?"

"I don't see what's strange about not crying due to a fictional animated fish."

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi left them to it and headed into his bedroom, not bothering to be quiet.

"Oikawa, wake up."

The Oikawa-shaped lump on his bed stirred slightly, body elongating as he stretched down his toes. They peeped out the bottom, and were withdrawn hastily with an annoyed grunt.

"Ten more minutes," Oikawa slurred out, facing away from Iwaizumi.

"No. Now. I told you we should’ve gone to bed earlier.”

Stepping forward, Iwaizumi whipped off the duvet faster than Oikawa could realise what was happening and hang onto them. Oikawa let out a dramatic shriek and curled up  into a tight ball as Iwaizumi threw a hand over his face.

"IwA-CHAN!"

"I lent you clothes, so why the fuck are you naked?" Iwaizumi snapped out, glowering at the pale, curved back in front of him.

"I got too warm," Oikawa whined, looking back at Iwaizumi over his shoulder. "Can I have the duvet back now?"

"No, you'll just go back to sleep. I have a better idea." Iwaizumi caught sight of the crumpled clothes at the end of the bed and heaved out a sigh, turning to his drawers. Pulling out a t-shirt and pants, he flung them hard over his shoulder, hoping he hit Oikawa's face. "Put those on, for fuck's sake. I have visitors." 

"Oh, scared they'll get the wrong idea?" Oikawa teased, twisting his upper half around to grab the clothes. He was surprisingly muscular, Hajime noticed. He reminded him of the athletes he saw on tv, the ones who dedicated their entire lives to one sport. He wasn't one, was he? There was no way they would be allowed skip out on training for this long.

"No. Scared that my friends will scarred forever," Iwaizumi replied, reaching down to grab his bunched-clothes, and realising there was one extra piece that shouldn't be there. "Oi, who said you could use my boxers?"

"I needed new underwear, and it's hardly a big deal."

Shimmying into the pants, Oikawa slung his legs over the edge of the bed and aimed an innocent smile up at a scowling Hajime. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course I do. I'm sending the washing bill to you."

"But I'm a penniless student, living off of dried ramen and water."

Oikawa slipped the t-shirt on over his head, the hem stopping just shy of the waistband of the tracksuit bottoms.

"Am I supposed to care about that?"

"You're heartless."

Bending down, Oikawa slid his bag over to beside him, put a hand in and hesitated. "Do you mind fetching the hairbrush I left in the bathroom? As you can see-" here he gestured upwards "-clearly, I can't be seen with this." 

It was glorious, really, Oikawa’s bedhead. It couldn’t even be compared to a nest anymore-any bird with a shred of pride wouldn’t build something so messy and dishevelled that if it was a nest, it’d probably fall apart in any given moment. Strands of light brown hair stuck out everywhere-Oikawa obviously tossed around a lot in his sleep-revealing some darker undertones splayed out at the back of his neck.  Iwaizumi mulled it over for a moment, then sighed deeply. "Fine. But next time, make sure you have it with you."

"Ok~ay," Oikawa confirmed cheerily as Hajime left the room. The smile dropped as soon as he was gone, quickly rolling up his trousers leg before pulling out the worn out supporter. Securing it around his knee, a weight fell, heavy and suffocating,  onto Oikawa's chest, a weight formed of regret and sheer, concentrated frustration. Hearing steps, his head snapped up again as he frantically yanked down the leg again. Once Iwaizumi entered, Oikawa's smile was back in place, smoothly thanking him for his service, even if he did complain a lot.

"You're the one who complains," Iwaizumi retorted back, slouching back against the door.

Oikawa's knee pulsed as he stood up, and another mask of a smile clicked into place. Almost mechanical at this point, automatic and constant.

"What are you talking about, Iwa-chan? I never complain."

"I'm quoting you on that next time you whine to me about something," Iwaizumi promised as Oikawa threaded the brush through his hair with some difficulty.

"Hmph. You'll be waiting quite a while then."

"I bet you that you'll whinge about something before we leave this room."

"Ridiculous. Never going to happen."

"Sure, sure," Iwaizumi drawled sarcastically.

Roughly working out a particularly challenging knot, Oikawa huffed. "Somehow, I feel like you're the one being insincere here. You can't predict that. You've known me like two days."

"Feels longer," Iwaizumi confessed, his eyebrows scrunching up. 

“Doesn’t matter if it feels longer or not, you know nothing about me,” Oikawa insisted with another “hmph,” dragging the hairbrush almost successfully down his brown hair. 

“I know you’re egotistical as hell,” Iwaizumi retorted back. “What more do I need to know?”

“There’s more to my flawless self than ego, but I can’t expect someone like you to see that,”Oikawa shot back, perching himself on the edge of the bed. “Do you own a mirror?” 

“There’s a mirror in the bathroom.”

“I know that! I mean a regular mirror.”

“That is a regular mirror.”

“A handheld mirror.” Oikawa stood up, exasperated. “I’m assuming you don’t have hairspray either?”

“I have hair gel, if that’ll do you. And the bathroom mirror is going to have to be enough.”

“Hair gel will suffice.” Oikawa slipped on his glasses and strode past Iwaizumi into the hallway, ducking quickly into the bathroom. 

“Don’t be hours,” Iwaizumi called out to him as he returned to the kitchen. 

“I think Bokuto was right,” Akaashi mentioned, eyes narrowed thoughtfully as Iwaizumi plopped back down. 

“Hm?”

“He does look familiar.”

“Does he?” Bokuto frowned, munching away on some sort of snack packet Iwaizumi didn’t even know he had. 

“Yes, you said that earlier.”

“What did you say his name was again?” Kuroo asked, tugging out his cell phone.

“Oikawa Tooru,” Hajime answered, resting his cheeks against his fist propped up on the table. “Dunno much about him.”

Kuroo let out a gasp, scrolling down his phone eagerly with his thumb. “Bro, the amazing setter on track to dominate nationals?”

Akaashi’s expression cleared up, and a lightbulb visibly went off in Bokuto’s memory.

“Oooh, the one with the incredible serves?!”

“Wasn’t Oikawa Tooru from the Miyagi prefecture? What would he be doing in Tokyo?” Akaashi questioned, Iwaizumi frowning as he raised his head up in interest.

“I think he said he was in college.”

“Wouldn’t he be on the national team, though? What happened to him?” 

Kuroo’s focused expression melded into irritation, scowling, displeased, down at the screen.

“I dunno. He just kinda dropped off the radar suddenly, around four years ago. I think? It doesn’t say much here, and I can’t find any recent news about him.”

“Are you sure it’s him?” Iwaizumi leaned forward as Kuroo nodded surely, flashing him a photo. It was indeed the Oikawa currently in his bathroom, except younger, with the same expertly styled hair and crafted fake, blinding grin. 

"That's the guy you were super jealous of because he got all the ladies?" Bokuto whispered as he reached out with his hand, but with Bokuto it wasn't much of a whisper. More like a subdued yell.

"Shut up," Kuroo hissed, snatching back his phone. "I can get women too."

"Not according to Kenma," Akaashi shrugged nonchalantly. 

"Why do you get on so well with him?!" Kuroo groaned out. "And why does he need to share every detail of my life with you?!"

"It's quite amusing," Akaashi answered with a tiny smile. "Seeing the contrast between what you want us to think and what really happened."

"I'm cool! Bro, back me up here."

"Yeah! Kuroo's the coolest person out of..." Bokuto’s face creased up, musing it over. “Out of Nekoma...no, wait, there was Yaku and Lev, and you’re equally as cool as me, not to mention Akaashi, so I can’t say out of us, but you’re pretty cool!” 

“Thanks for trying,” Kuroo drawled out, unimpressed.

Iwaizumi let them bicker on, eyebrows drawn together as he considered the new information. It made sense, in a way. How Oikawa was so muscular, his popularity with the women, his cocky attitude, bordering on assholeness. 

“Bordering,” Iwaizumi reflected internally, then snorted out loud. No, he definitely was an asshole. 

“Hm?” Kuroo leered at him, a shitty grin sliding home on his lips. “What’cha thinking about? You look happy.”

“Nothing.”

Kuroo made a disbelieving noise to which Iwaizumi scowled at. “Shut up, odd bedhead.”

"Are you coming to training tomorrow?" Akaashi asked.

"I don't know. I'll see what times I'm working today."

"Aww, you haven't been to practice in agggeess," Bokuto whined. "I don't have any spiker to compete against if you're not there."

"Ha, no need to flatter me into going," Iwaizumi snorted.

"Seriously, though," Kuroo interjected. "You need to repeat the last year of high school, or at least get into uni as a mature student. An unreliable job in the nearby factory or the odd job here and there won't get you anywhere."

"Must be bad if you, of all people, are on my case about it," Hajime muttered. "I'm working on it, alright?"

"At least go to Kuroo's parties and socialise!" Bokuto encouraged, slinging an arm around Iwaizumi's neck.

“I’ll go if I have time.” 

"Aw come on, Iwaizumi.” Kuroo slunk closer to him over the table, a grin growing on his face. “Your fan club will be _ sooo _ disappointed if you don't show up."

"I don't have a fan club."

"Have you seen Kindaichi? The poor guy looks like he'd happily suck your dick every time you pull off an incredible receive."

"Like you wouldn't?" Bokuto retorted back.

"I'm not a gay ass owl like you, so no."

“Are you still trying to deny your sexuality to get Kenma jealous?” Iwaizumi inquired with raised eyebrows. Kuroo ignored him. 

"You don't have to be gay to give a blowjob," Akaashi pointed out. "If you respect and admire the person, it's a way of showing your appreciation."

"That's bullshit. So I should blow the coach then?"

"If the person is hot, it helps," Akaashi offered. Bokuto took the opportunity to leap in helpfully with,"and the coach isn't very hot, but Iwaizumi is, so-"

"Could you please stop discussing sucking my dick?"

"Sorry, how inconsiderate of us," Kuroo drawled.

"The point is, come to practice, even if you have to leave early," Akaashi summarised. "It's good to take a break every now and then."

"I can't. I need the money."

"You're the richest out of all of us, so lighten up a bit," Kuroo pestered.

Annoyance coursed through Iwaizumi, and he stood up, gaze narrowing dangerously.

"I said I need the money, and I mean it. I'll go to practice if I have time, so lay off, okay?"

Kuroo held up his palms innocently, as if he could ever look innocent with his appearance. "Okay, okay. Point taken. Right, lads?"

Akaashi nodded carefully in agreement, as did Bokuto.

"By the way," Akaashi smoothly intervened with a change of subject. "Is Oikawa staying with you, then?"

" Nah, he's just hanging around for now. If he was, I'd be making him pay his share of the rent by now. I think I'll lead him back to somewhere he knows today."

"Doesn't he have a phone with GPS? Or somebody he could call?" Kuroo inquired.

"It died."

"On the first night? Has he used yours, then?"

"Why?"

"Don't you think his family and friends would be worried by now? I mean, they haven't heard from him in two days."

"He hasn't. Although he did comment that they were used to him vanishing for a few days, I think." 

A few soft footsteps were all the warning they got before Oikawa padded into the kitchen, sporting a cheerful grin and much tidier hair. Iwaizumi briefly wondered how the fuck he got his hair in order within two hours, then didn’t care any more. 

“Yo-ho, I’m Oikawa!” Oikawa declared amiably, holding up a peace sign. “Pleased to meet all of you!”

This must look strange, Iwaizumi thought. Kuroo draped out over the length of the table, Bokuto still hanging off Hajime’s neck, and Akaashi, sitting on his seat like a normal person. 

“Oh look, the celebrity is here,” Kuroo propped his chin up with his arm and gazed at Oikawa lazily. 

Oikawa’s grin didn’t waver, but he blinked slowly, mystified. “Celebrity? I’m good-looking, but please, there’s no need to flatter me so early.”

Kuroo exchanged a glance with Bokuto, who unwound his arms from around Iwaizumi’s neck and bounded over to Oikawa in two steps. 

“I’m Bokuto Kōtarō! Nice to meet you! You’re Oikawa Tooru, right? The Oikawa Tooru? The Oikawa Tooru from Aoba Johsai, the talented setter with the serve like bwoooosh and-”

With a sigh, Akaashi stood up and yanked Bokuto back by the back of his t-shirt, entering into a graceful bow in the same motion. 

“Apologies about that. I’m Akaashi Keji. Nice to meet you.”

“No need to apologise,” Oikawa said with a gentle sideways hand-wave. “I’m used to the attention and adoration.”

“So you are him?” Kuroo asked, rolling over onto his back and almost toppling off the table. “Shit!”

Oikawa’s gaze flickered over to Iwaizumi for a second and he could see his clear amusement, but in the next second it was hidden. 

“This here is Kuroo,” Iwaizumi introduced him as he steadied himself and Akaashi hauled Bokuto back onto a chair. “He likes to act intimidating, but he can’t fall asleep without his cat, so don’t mind him, okay?”

“Hey,”Kuroo complained, shooting an annoyed glower at Hajime. “I was just getting into the role.”

“There’s no need to. Oikawa fills the role of the gaudy asshole.”

“Iwa-chan, you’re so rude to your  celebrity guests,” Oikawa complained, bending over to rest his elbows on the table, as there were no chairs left.

“Past celebrity,” Kuroo corrected with a gleam in his eye. 

Ignoring him and turning to Bokuto, Oikawa asked, “you’re from Fukurodani, right?”

“I am,” Bokuto said, puffing out his chest proudly. 

“One of the top five volleyball aces in the country,” Akaashi supplied, making Bokuto shine. 

“Still not in the top three, huh?” Kuroo added on slyly.

“Already told you Kuroo, the role of asshole is taken. Give Bokuto a break.”

“Huh.” Oikawa put his hands on his hips, eying Bokuto up. “I thought you’d be taller. How do you know Iwa-chan?”

“He turns up to practice at my college sometimes,” Bokuto answered, rotating his head to face Iwaizumi with intense golden eyes. “He’s mysterious and shouldn’t even be there, but everyone looks up to him as a spiker and not me, which I don’t understand….”

“You’re the ace,” Akaashi reminded him carefully. “Everyone cheers you on, and you’re the strongest spiker on the team.”

Bokuto perked up for a moment, then his shoulders drooped down again sadly. “But nobody looks at me the way Kindaichi and Kyoutani look at him…”

“Kyoutani? The one who was here yesterday? He plays volleyball?” Oikawa questioned as Akaashi continued trying to reassure Bokuto. 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi confirmed.

“He’s annoying as a blocker,” Kuroo commented, pouting unhappily. “He always hits it really hard, and he’s sprained my fingers a couple of times.” 

Iwaizumi smiled at that, which Oikawa didn’t miss. 

“So he’s Iwa-chan’s protégé, I assume?” 

“Pretty much,” Kuroo said. “Which I don’t understand. He doesn’t even go to college here.”

“Or at all,” Bokuto added helpfully. 

“Nothing wrong with that,” Oikawa slipped in smoothly, tossing his hair out of his eyes. “Iwa-chan doesn’t go either, right? Why is that?”

“We don’t know.” Kuroo faced Iwaizumi with a beseeching smile. “He won’t tell us.”

“I don’t have to go to college, alright? It’s not a big deal.”

“Why didn’t you finish high school then?”

“It’s none of your business,” Iwaizumi said, a sharper edge to his voice. “Why are you so interested, anyway?”

“We’re your friends,” Oikawa pleaded, joining Kuroo with the begging eyes.

“And we’re interested in your life,” Kuroo insisted with a sincerity far too pure to be believed. 

“So, please, tell us,” Oikawa pushed. 

Iwaizumi stood up, his expression darkening, and a shiver ran through Oikawa. He’d overstepped his bounds, but he didn’t know why.

“I’m going to go change, and you’re going to gather your stuff up. Then I’m going to go and lead you back to somewhere you know, and go for a run. Alright?”

A frown broke through Oikawa’s skin as he tracked Hajime’s movements out of the doorway.

“Oops, looks like you pissed him off,” Kuroo told him, smirking.

Oikawa turned his gaze back to him, raising an eyebrow.

“You? I think you mean we. Why’s he so defensive, anyway?”

“Nobody knows,” Kuroo whispered, widening his eyes just a bit for dramatic effect. “I told you, he’s mysterious.”

“But you’re his friend, and friends have to pry into each other’s lives. It’s like a rule.” 

“Oh, I almost forgot.” 

Oikawa rotated back around to face the doorway, and Iwaizumi was there, looking slightly less irritated than before.

“Hey, Oikawa?"

Iwaizumi was regarding Oikawa as if he'd just realised something incredibly obvious, but had overlooked it.

"Yes, that is me."

Ignoring him, Iwaizumi stepped forward, lips pursing up thoughtfully.

"Don't you need to contact someone? You've been here for two days. Won't someone be worried?"

"Probably," Oikawa answered cheerfully. "But they're used to me disappearing for a couple of days, so no worries."

Iwaizumi held out his phone.

"Call your parents, friends, whatever. Let them know you're safe and going home soon, okay?"

"I'd hardly say being with you is 'safe'," Oikawa sniffed, taking the phone.

"Can't argue with you, since Bokuto and Kuroo are here," Iwaizumi admitted.

"Hey!" Bokuro protested, overhearing from the depths of his conversation with Akaashi.

"He does have a point," Kuroo admitted with a sly grin. 

Hopping off the chair, Oikawa patted Hajime on the back cautiously. 

“See, I knew you had a kind side to you, under all the violence and brutality.”

“Just call somebody, or you’ll be taking back those words,” Iwaizumi threatened before striding out of the room. 

“So, Mr. Pretty? Who’re you going to call?” Kuroo asked, glancing down at the plain black phone. “Oh. His passcode is 4444, by the way.”

Oikawa met Kuroo’s gaze. “You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. Try it.”

Oikawa did, and it worked.

“Holy shit.”

“It used to be 1234. Our dear Iwaizumi is quite simple and straightforward,” Kuroo shrugged. “So, to answer my question, who are you going to call?”

“Why do you care?”

“Iwaizumi said the role of asshole was taken, so I’m trying to be the nice one here.”

“Everyone knows you’re the dork of the group,” Akaashi said quietly around Bokuto’s rambling. 

“I am not a dork.”

“Tell that to your chemistry lecturer and she’ll laugh in your face.”

“Stop being right, Akaashi. You remind me too much of Kenma.”

“Scared you’ll develop a crush on me too?”

“I do not-!”

By this time, Oikawa had checked out of the conversation and wandered into the living room, staring at the phone in his hands. He could call his parents, he supposed, but he rarely called anyway, and he didn’t feel like telling them about this. His sister was always a possibility, if she wasn’t at work or too busy, which she nearly always was. Mattsun and Makki might be wondering about him too, but probably too wrapped in each other and memes to care too much. If he told Suga, the whole story would fly around their group in under thirty seconds. Which maybe wasn’t a bad thing, Oikawa reasoned. Usually, he adored being able to tell his dramatic stories again and again, but he didn’t feel excited about this one. He met Iwa-chan, sure, and everything turned out alright, but his mind kept wandering back to the looks in those men’s eyes and wondering what would’ve happened if Iwa-chan hadn’t been there. 

Suga, Oikawa decided firmly. 

Keying in the number, Oikawa sprawled out over the couch, one arm swinging lazily as he waited for Suga to pick up. Thirty seconds later, no answer. Oikawa groaned, frustrated as Suga’s soothing voice flooded through the voicemail. He was with Daichi, Oikawa would’ve bet money on it. Suga was exactly the polite type not to answer their phone during company, especially if it was an unknown number.

“Hi, Suga here. I can’t answer at the moment, so leave a message and I’ll ring you back as soon as I can!”

Oikawa took a breath as the beep reverberated, sounding much louder than it sound.

“Suga, it’s Oikawa. You’re probably sucking sawamura’s dick right now, and if you are, good for you, he’s hot as hell!” Oikawa chirped cheerfully. “Just letting you know that I’m alive, I made a new friend so expect to meet him soon! He’s-” Oikawa hesitated. “Nice. You’ll love him, I’m sure! Also, I’ll be back home today, so expect a visit from me!”

Hanging up with a shallow sigh, Oikawa turned onto his back, his legs stretching out the length of the couch, forearm resting on his forehead. 

“Iwa-chan won’t mind, will he?”he mumbled out softly, scrolling through the rest of his phone. The wallpaper was an intense close-up of a volleyball, striking and dynamic against the black background, which Oikawa approved of. Tapping into his contact list with a furtive glance at the bedroom door, Oikawa hummed lowly, pleased, as he typed in a new addition. A couple of seconds later, Iwaizumi strode into the room, dressed simply in a tank top and shorts. Admittedly, Oikawa’s eyes strayed gratefully over his toned arms-especially his upper arms and shoulders, holy shit how the hell did he get them so damn powerful-looking, no  wonder he’d never lost an arm-wrestling match-

“Did you call someone?” Iwaizumi asked, holding out his palm for his phone.

Dragging his gaze back up to Hajime’s eyes, Oikawa smiled, trying to distract himself from Iwa-chan’s sturdy thighs as he handed the phone back over.

“Yeah. They know I’m coming back, so it’s all good.”

“Want breakfast before you go?”

“I’m good. I’ll get something on the way home,” Oikawa said, rising up so he was standing in front of Iwaizumi. With some interest, he noticed he was taller than him, if only by a few centimetres. 

Iwaizumi shot him a doubtful look as he moved into the kitchen, into all the chatter. “Are you really?”

“Are you doubting my words? I’m so hurt,” Oikawa protested, holding a hand over his chest. 

“Yeah. You seem like a guy to skip breakfast and lie about eating.”

“I seem like? That’s hardly a solid reason, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa defended himself, following Iwaizumi back into the kitchen. 

As soon as Hajime entered, Kuroo let out a low whistle. “Nice biceps, bro.”

Springing up next to him, Bokuto immediately rolled up his sleeves, revealing burly arms to match Iwaizumi’s, or even best. 

“Akaaaaaashi!” Bokuto held up his arm next to Iwaizumi’s, an eager grin similar to that of a puppy’s adorning his face. “Who’s got the best arms? Be honest, you can tell me, I can take it!”

“Iwaizumi, of course,” Kuroo grinned. “Without a doubt.”

“Both of you have very nice arms,” Akaashi settled on diplomatically. 

Bokuto’s expression dropped into a pout, and he spun around to face Oikawa.

“Hey, new guy, what do you think? Mine or Iwaizumi’s?”

Oikawa broke into a warm, friendly smile, right before he chirped out, “Iwa-chan’s, obviously!” 

“Awwww…..”

Bokuto slumped sadly back into his seat, disheartened, and planted his forehead onto the table. Leaning over to him, Akaashi began reassuring him in a low, soft voice, patting him gently on the back. Iwaizumi caught Oikawa’s smirk and shook his head, swiping a water bottle out of a cabinet. “You’re a total sadist.”

“It was the truth,” Oikawa said, shrugging with his hands up in the air. 

Filling up his bottle, Iwaizumi turned to the trio on his table, tilting his head as he tried to decide what to do with them. 

“Will you all be okay if I leave? You won’t trash the place or anything, will you?”

“Well,” Kuroo started to say with a massive grin. “I was thinking that-”

“I’ll make sure they don’t,” Akaashi interrupted him firmly. “Kuroo, no house parties. It’s barely even the afternoon.”

“Aw….” Kuroo sulked grumpily, slipping off of the table to face Oikawa, lanky and lithe. “Nice to meet you, pretty boy.”

“It’ll be nice to meet you when you can get your hair under control,” Oikawa retorted back with a charming grin. 

Hiding a smile, Iwaizumi tugged at Oikawa’s shirt, reminding him, “do you have all your stuff? I’m not going back for it if you don’t.”

“One sec,” Oikawa said as he skipped off. 

“You’re right,” Kuroo admitted begrudgingly. “He is more of an ass than me.”

“High praise from you,” Iwaizumi snorted, scooping up his runners and tying them up. 

“I’m ready,” Oikawa announced, flaunting back into the room, with his shoulder bag stuffed full of his clothes. “You don’t mind if I keep your clothes, do you?”

“I do, so please give them back.” 

“Mm, so you want to see me again?”

“I kind of have to.”

“Oh my god, stop flirting and leave already,” Kuroo spat out, rolling his eyes.

Akaashi looked over with a small smile, knowing. “You wouldn’t be jealous, by any chance?”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Good, because there’s nothing to be jealous of,” Iwaizumi said, pushing Oikawa towards the doorway. “I’m going to bring you to outside that bar you were going to, alright?”

“Perfect!”

Iwaizumi shot a look back over his shoulder at the guys. “I’ll be back soon. Please don’t trash my place again.”

“That was one time!” Bokuto protested vigorously. 

“We simply had to find out who could balance more Doritos on their chin while doing a handstand against the couch,” Kuroo purred. “Wasn’t my fault that Bokuto fell and crushed them all into the rug.”

“Akaashi, please. I’m counting on you.”

“Leave it to me,” Akaashi responded, entirely serious.

Iwaizumi gave an equally serious nod back and then shuffled into the hallway, checking that he had a key in his pocket. “Alright. Let’s go.”

\-------

Fifteen minutes and a lot of bickering about directions later, Iwaizumi halted, looking around to confirm the place. 

“Is here okay?”

“I think so,” Oikawa confirmed, gazing around him with a furrowed brow. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I can find my way back from here.”

“Okay. Good.”

A few moments passed, and neither of them moved. Iwaizumi was the first to break the silence, scuffing his sneaker against the concrete as he cleared his throat. 

“So,” he began, glancing away. “Will I see you again?”

“If you ever want your clothes back, yes,” Oikawa said, coupling his words with a smile. “I hope when you get back, your entire couch is coated in Dorito dust.”

Iwaizumi aimed a kick at his shin, but Oikawa nimbly dodged it with a low chuckle.

“Don’t joke about shit like that. Do you know how hard it is to get furnishings clean after that?”

“I don’t want to find out, to be honest. Also, in case you were too shy to ask for my number, I saved it to your phone. You’re welcome.” 

Oikawa might’ve been imagining it out of wistfulness, but he thought he saw Iwaizumi’s features relax. Just a tiny bit, barely noticeable, but it was enough to bolster Oikawa’s confidence. 

“Okay,” was all that Hajime said. 

“I know, someone like me giving out my number like that is shocking,” Oikawa sighed out, draping the back of his hand on his forehead. “I’d get so many calls if my fangirls got a hold of it. I’d probably end up having to change my number, maybe even move-”

“I get it,” Iwaizumi cut across him, rolling his eyes. “I need to work later, so I’d better get moving. You, too.”

“Yeah,” Oikawa agreed flatly, but didn’t move. 

“See you around,” Iwaizumi called out as he turned around, half-raising a hand.

Oikawa beamed back, waving enthusiastically back at him, rocking forwards on the balls of his feet. “See you, Iwa-chan!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will keep trying to put out weekly updates, because honestly that's the only way I can finish anything  
> (i've never finished anything)  
> im determined to finish this one though


	4. Past Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> daisuga. a lot of daisuga, and a lot of oikawa berating himself.  
> quite a lot of referring to sex in this chapter btw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my writing style appeared for a day and then vanished again  
> i think it'll be back in a month or so  
> in the meantime, i hope this will be acceptable

Lunge, land, lift. 

Iwaizumi was used to the familiar pattern, the unfaltering rhythm of his feet slamming down, bouncing up again as air tore down his throat. He’d only felt the other pattern a couple of times, the pattern of his wound flexing in time with his limbs, prickling jolts of agony shooting vibrations through his body every time his foot pounded down on the pavement. 

He ignored it, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Locking his jaw tightly, Iwaizumi faithfully followed the same circuit he’d been running for years. Fifteen minutes to the park, wind through the small centre of woodland pathway instead of around, because that pathway was the only one which brought him near to his destination. The cool caress of the trees’ shade was relief on his skin, sweat bubbling up and soaking into his clothes. There were few people around, despite it nearing afternoon, and nobody threw a second glance at him. Iwaizumi liked that. He veered out of the park, jogging along the side of the road, the noise of the car’s motors doing nothing to mask over his raspy, laboured breaths. 

After a few minutes, Iwaizumi slowed his pace, blinking fast to keep the sweat droplets out of his eyes. He was counting the numbers on the buildings, dingy restaurants, dead bars and few houses passing him by. He didn’t need to count, but he did it every time anyway. 

He was almost there when he felt his phone shiver demandingly in his pocket, ringtone sounding out clear and insistant. Stopping, he tugged it out, staring at the random jumble of numbers on the screen before shrugging and answering, breathing hard.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is Oikawa there?”

The voice on the other end was soft, yet flowed with an air of determination. Iwaizumi frowned. Must be one of the people he called, but then why were they calling him?

“Can you tell me who you are first?”

“Oh, apologies. I got a bit too excited when I heard his voicemail-”

Hajime sighed, rocking forward onto the balls of his feet in frustration. Oikawa had told him that they knew he was coming back, so why the hell was he getting this call?

“-but I’m Sugawara Koushi. I’m assuming you’re Oikawa’s new friend?”

“I suppose,” Iwaizumi agreed shortly. “He told me he’d let someone know that he was coming back.”

“He left a voicemail,” Sugawara explained, then let out what sounded like a stifled sigh. “A very awkward one for me to listen to, in fact, but please let’s not get into that. My calls aren’t getting through to him, so is he still with you, Mr…..?”

The end of his sentence trailed off into a query. 

“Iwaizumi,” Iwaizumi supplied. “And no, he’s not with me. I dropped him off about...a half an hour ago, I think. His phone’s dead.”

“I figured.” Another sigh from the other end of the line. “He didn’t cause you too much hassle, did he?”

“No.” Iwaizumi tilted his head, mind sparking with sudden curiosity. “Why?”

“Ah...nevermind. I’m glad he’s okay! Thank you for taking care of him.”

“No problem,” Iwaizumi replied. “I hope you can get in contact with him soon.”

“Thank you!” Sugawara chirped back. “I’m sorry if I came across abrupt, it’s just I always get so worried when Oikawa disappears, but it’s reassuring to know that he was with someone. I mean, he always is, but he someone he refers to as a friend. In any case, I’d better go now. Thanks again for all your help!” 

“No problem,” Iwaizumi repeated, a bit bemused by Sugawara’s ramblings. Oikawa had mentioned that his friends were used to him vanishing for a couple of days-Iwaizumi assumed that it was because he needed some space-but never about other people. 

Sugawara hung up, and Iwaizumi placed the phone back into his pocket with a crease between his eyebrows. 

Maybe he should’ve walked Oikawa all the way home. 

Shaking his head, Iwaizumi continued onwards. Oikawa could take care of himself, he’d proved that the first night they met. 

_ But what if- _

Shut up, Iwaizumi thought viciously as he stopped in front of an arched entrance, wedged between two nightclubs. It looked small from the outside, but that was only if you didn’t know this was one entrance of many into the building, which spread out over a large area behind all the front-face buildings. Iwaizumi’s mouth twisted up into a bitter smile as he walked into the gleaming white reception.

He had enough to worry about without Oikawa. 

\------

Oikawa dragged himself home. 

“I’m back!” he called out, chipper and upbeat, into the empty apartment. Spacious and open, dressed in bright colours, didn’t stop Oikawa’s shoulders from dropping as soon as he stepped inside. Not bothering to lock the door, Oikawa strode straight to the kitchen, dumping his bag in the hallway on the way. Opening a cupboard, Oikawa produced a half-full bottle and a glass, quickly placing them down on the table. The bottoms were there for barely a second before he was pouring himself a generous glass, his hand shaking ever so slightly. Flinging back his head, Oikawa took two solid gulps, relishing the slow burn down his throat. 

“Time to see what I’ve missed,” he blurted out, hating how empty the air around him sounded. 

Scrambling back to his bag, Oikawa knelt down with a hiss of pain, rifling through it until he found his long-neglected phone. As he was straightening back up, he caught a glimpse of the door trembling on its hinges, swinging inwards ever so slightly. Pausing, he tried to bring himself to care. 

“Just be grateful you can actually open your door,” he muttered as he strode across the carpet, pushing his shoulder against the door to close it. A flinch shuddered through his body at the resounding bang. He hadn’t intended for it to be that loud. 

Luckily, his neighbours seemed to be all at work, or out, or being productive, or at least doing something other than lying uselessly in their apartments and feeling hopelessly sorry for themselves. Locking the door, Oikawa pulled the key out of the lock, one hand already messing up his hair as he steered himself into his bedroom. Meticulously clean, as always. Socialising could only fill so much of Oikawa’s time. Dumping himself forward on the bed, Oikawa lazily patted the ground around him until he felt his charger, swiping it up smoothly. Rolling over to plug it into the wall beside his pillow, Oikawa waited a few seconds until the screen blinked into life, impatiently drumming his fingers across the mattress. Another few minutes and he had to admit, he was satisfied enough. Five missed calls from Suga, two from Mattsun, and one from Daichi. One of the calls was probably from Makki borrowing Mattsun’s phone, Oikawa figured, since Makki was one of those people who never, ever had credit. And since he knew Mattsun’s passcode there was no stopping him from wreaking havoc with everything. It balanced out in the end, though. Mattsun used everything of Makki’s, and sometimes Oikawa knew that they’d forgotten which shirt was owned by who originally. It had been happening more often lately, and Oikawa had to remember to tease them more often for it. Maybe some more mocking of their lame nicknames for each other? Or some reactions to their gross PDA? Wasn’t as if they could tease him back for that. 

Jealously arched through Oikawa’s chest, leaving a bitter sting in its wake. 

Dropping his face onto the pillow, Oikawa tapped at what he hoped was Suga’s name, the repetitive ring dancing through the room. Better to get the scolding over with sooner rather than later. 

“Oikawa! Are you back? I told you before, don’t go off without giving me notice or Daichi will file a missing person’s report yet again, and I really don’t think I could’ve stopped him this time, especially if you disappeared for any longer.”

“I think you could’ve convinced him somehow,” Oikawa said, a sly smile on his lips that he knew came across on his voice. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you? Even I know one foolproof way you could distract him, and I don’t have -”

“I get it,” Suga cut across him. “I’m coming over soon, is that okay with you?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Let me check my packed schedule first…..”

“Oikawa, let me rephrase that. I’m coming over. “

“Aw, Suga-kun, you’re so caring,” Oikawa cooed, tossing over onto his back and right back over again.

“Expect me in half an hour or so, okay?” 

“Okay,” Oikaw chirped out as the bleeping that indicated that Suga had hung up rang out in his ear. Switching lazily to his twitter, Oikawa couldn’t withhold a mocking yawn, and closed it again after a few minutes. Normally he was the king of complaining, but he’d rather not engage in it today, and for some reason strangers’ witty  moaning had lost its usual comfort. Logging onto facebook, Oikawa felt his eyelids grow heavy as he scrolled down through his notifications, yeah, yeah, tagged in a few photos from the party a few nights ago, a few group chats decimated by Makki’s meme spam, a few friend  requests from girls who looked vaguely familiar. Faces that were almost worth remembering, but not quite. Oikawa’s cheek sank further down on his fist, not bothering to stifle the bored groan emerging from his mouth. HIs head slid down his arm, forehead resting on the pillow as the phone gradually slips from his loosening fingers, his mind growing slow with incoherent thoughts. Before long, his head was buried in the pillow, his arms splayed crookedly out over the bed as he drifted off. 

\---------

"Up next, we have the latest live coverage of the men's volleyball, Japan Vs Indonesia."

The sentence sliced through Oikawa's head, and he lowered his phone. Often leaving the television on to swell the apartment with the empty comfort of white noise, he usually didn't pay any attention to it. But...

Drifting over to the living room doorway, Oikawa held his breath, surprised that his gaze didn't short-circuit the tv. The starting lineup flashed on-screen, and Oikawa's nails dug into his palms, hard. Kageyama hadn't changed that much in the last few years, appearance-wise, in any case. His instinctive glare might've softened a bit, and Oikawa's expression writhed up bitterly as he thought of why. That shrimp. Kageyama was only seventeen, one of the youngest players ever on the national team. It was fucking ridiculous.  _ He  _ was ridiculous. His hands wavering, Oikawa longed-no, lusted to grab the nearest weighty object and slam it right through the  screen. That was where he should be. He should be there, feeling the smooth surface of the court under his runners. He should be there, breathing in the sweat of his teammates, drinking in the rushes of cheers and praise from the stands, heckling at the opponents.

That should be him.  _ Him _ .

Lips twisting up into an ugly snarl, Oikawa seated himself stiffly on the couch, hands wound around each other tightly, and settled down to watch.

In fairness, he lasted the entire match before snapping.

They won.

Without him.

It made no sense. Ushiwaka was the very one always telling people that Oikawa was the setter who could bring the best out of his team, Oikawa was the one he'd choose to have his setter, Oikawa was the special one, Oikawa, Oikawa,  _ Oikawa _ .

Not Kageyama.

Something inside Oikawa's chest exploded, and before he could talk himself out of it his hand was blurring, grasping the mug off of the coffee table and flinging it blindly, jerkily. It missed the tv, blessedly, likely because Oikawa couldn't see properly through the tears being ripped from him. The smash, then the quick jittering and clashing off the pieces raining to the ground didn't quite manage to mask Oikawa's sobs.

The last shred of porcelain folded onto the floor and became another sound in Oikawa's mind. The sound of a hand on skin, echoing loudly along the domed ceiling as if mocking Oikawa, reminding himself of his mistake over and over again. Kageyama's completely confused expression, a red mark blooming across the side of his face as he lay there on the floor. Because he was so blissfully dense, so utterly thick that he didn't understand why his senpai had hit him, he was only asking for some tutoring.....

It had taken Oikawa several seconds for his actions to sink in past his dumbfounded disbelief. Dumb, all right. Stupid, stupid. Irrational emotions were Oikawa's forte. Impulsive actions were not. Had he really done that?

"Oikawa-san?" Tobio asked quietly, almost fearfully. "Why did you hit me?" 

His eyes were stretched wide, and Oikawa could almost see the shimmer of himself in them, pale and speechless. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Oikaw managed to choke out, his throat suffocatingly tight. “I didn’t mean to-”

His voice cracked. Kageyama slowly picked himself up off of the floor, clasping the fallen volleyball close to his chest. There was a weighted moment of silence, horrified from Oikawa, confusion bordering on fear from Kageyama. The seconds wrapped around Oikawa’s neck like a noose, and he found he could no longer speak, to gloss it over, to explain his actions. This wasn’t like him at all, but everyone had a breaking point somewhere. 

“Oi, it’s time to close up.”

The janitor’s forehead creased up as Oikawa spun around  and Kageyama jumped. 

“Look, whatever’s happening, do it outside. I gotta lock up.”

“Of course,” Oikawa squeaked out, fleeing outside with only the slight pause to swipe up his jacket. His shoulders tensed up, almost pressing in on his ears as he heard Tobio follow after him. 

“Tobio-chan,” he said, closing his eyes before turning around to face him. 

Kageyama blinked. “Yes?” His face was still red, and it looked like it hurt. A lot. It would undoubtedly leave a mark.

“Don’t feel like you can’t tell anyone about this.” Oikawa’s voice was flat. “I regret it, and I’ll accept any consequences that come. Even if it means losing my spot on the team as official setter.”

His voice wasn’t as strong as he wanted it to be on the last sentence, and he prayed Kageyama was too socially unaware to notice, but the expression on his face told Oikawa he’d caught it. And understood. 

“I want to earn my place on this team, Oikawa-san. By myself, not because you messed up.” Kageyama touched the side of his face briefly before quickly jerking his hand away. It must sting, a lot. “I’ll tell the coach I ran into a doorframe.”

Oikawa hated the spurt of gratitude that ran through his body, along with detestation. It would be so much easier if Tobio told the coach. Now, he had to tiptoe around him, cautious that he had blackmail material on him, a massive patch of evidence throbbing on his face. 

Yet Oikawa knew if he came clean, it couldn’t be accepted. How long would the suspension be? A couple of months, at least. There was only one tournament left in his third year of junior high, only one chance left to topple Ushijima. 

Selfishness was something Oikawa’s morals could never overcome. 

“Okay,” he whispered, uncharacteristically mellow. “Thank you.”

He had to resist spitting the words out. 

Kageyama nodded and started jogging away, his black hair swaying on the back of his neck gently in time to his step. Oikawa  _ hated  _ it. 

\---------

The next day, Makki and Mattsun had gathered around his table for lunch, and Oikawa’s practised smile had absolutely no cracks at all. They were good friends, good friends, but Oikawa couldn't tell them about it. They weren't those types of friends.

"Oikawa, you've been quiet today. It's been years since you've been this silent. Like, since before you could speak."

Oikawa had glowered across at Mattsun, flipping him off rapidly. He still could recall how unnaturally still his breaths felt, as if he was waiting. Waiting for some reaction from someone, anybody, to indicate that they knew. 

Everyone knew already, Oikawa was sure of it. Everyone knew. Kageyama had told everyone behind his back and now he was just waiting for practice, perhaps the last practice he'd have for his entire junior school life.

But nothing happened.

The coach didn't pull him aside, no players threw whispering, gossipy glances his way, no looks of disgust were flung at him. The normality of it all almost throttled Oikawa. Distraction after distraction, don’t think about it, stop thinking about. Work, tutor, advise, keep your head high. Look everyone in the eyes, even if they knew. Let them snicker behind his back. Let the shame slowly creep up his limbs until his muscles are frozen with self-loathing.

Nothing different there.

Perhaps the only event worth noting was his interaction with Kageyama. He taught him how to jump serve, and he caught on so fucking annoyingly quick that Oikawa had the urge to smack him again. It was guilt that was keeping him back. Because he had enjoyed it, for a split instant. He enjoyed taking out his anger on someone else, someone obviously superior to him on talent. His own petty victory, giving him a petty sense of satisfaction.

That's what you get. That's what you get for  _ taking my spot _ .

Except Kageyama hadn't stolen his spot, not yet-Oikawa could still fight, still drive himself onwards in the hope to somehow surpass true talent.

Until that match, it seemed to be working just fine.

\----------------------

Oikawa jolted awake with sweat sticking his chilled skin to his clothes. Fuck. 

He flailed around for a moment before he realised he was conscious now, that he was lying on his soft bed, that it was dream, it was fine.

But it wasn't just a dream.

Oikawa curled his fingers up into his hair, a deep ache creeping along his skull as his fingers tensed up. It wasn't a dream, because it had happened. It happened, all of it, and Oikawa thought his chest was about to burst open from the pressure of utter frustration.

Why did he have to hit Kageyama?

Why did he drive himself that hard?

Why did that match have to happen?

Why did his knee have to give out right then?

Why-and this was the biggest why of all, shaking through Oikawa’s bones-why was he such a  _ fucking idiot _ ?

Hauling himself up to cross his legs, Oikawa stooped over dismally, a shudder racking through his upper body. No. He couldn't do this now; Suga was coming around, remember?

Get a fucking hold of yourself, Tooru.

Sucking in a deep, measured breath, Oikawa leaned back so far that the back of his head tapped against the wall. He left it rest there for a moment, focusing on evening out his trembling breaths. Silence billowed into the room, pouring into Oikawa's lungs, so thick that he barely felt he could breathe, only the thrumming of his own fickle blood and his struggling exhales audible.

He fucked it up. He fucked it all up.

One of his slender hands-complimented so many times, how perfectly the ball fit into them, how flawless his calculated tossed were- rounded his knee, gripping hard and tight.

It hurt. It fucking hurt, but not as much as seeing Kageyama on the team, his team, his team that Kageyama had no fucking right to. His team.

Oikawa blew out another breath. He belonged on the court. He was a setter. How dare- _ how dare _ Kageyama take over his rightful place. He'd sweated twice-no,  _ thrice  _ as much as Kageyama had, broken down and somehow built himself back up again. He wasn't a genius who had overwhelming talent, who caught on four times as quickly as Oikawa did. Oikawa had worked himself five times as hard, all to keep ahead.

It hadn't worked.

His body failed him, and now he was here, rehashing the same thoughts over and over, drowning himself in the comfort of bitterness and alcohol. Going to college with no clue about his future, doing a course he was barely stopping himself dropping out of, fucking around aimlessly.

"What am I doing?" Oikawa questioned the wall, voice heavy with despair. Sadly, the wall offered no solution to his current state. 

Self-loathing coursed through Oikawa, prompting him to heave himself up and wearily trek to the kitchen, opening the all-too familiar cupboard with its all-too-worn handle.

"Ha," was the dry chuckle that left Oikawa's throat before fervent liquid raced down it, straight from the bottle.

Suga's coming. Get yourself together, for goodness' sake.

"Shut up," Oikawa mumbled, tightening his grip on the neck of the bottle as he took another swig. He hadn’t planned on breaking his facade today, but he supposed that today was as good a day as any.

\------------

A brief click echoed throughout the apartment as Suga let himself in, scarf loosely wrapped around his neck and searching gaze darted worriedly around the place. 

"Oikawa!"

"Haha.....so here's the concerned friend, right on cue!" Oikawa hiccupped, his fingers grasping the cool neck of another bottle, back swaying against the cupboards. He swung his legs jovially over the table he was perched on, beaming over at Suga. "Hate to break it to you, but your help isn't needed today! I have all the help I need right here-" he tapped the glass with one finger "- so I apologise for wasting your time! Have a lovely day!"

"Oikawa, are you drunk?" Suga approached him quickly, steps pattering softly on the floor. "Nevermind," he said as soon as he was near enough to smell the faint stench off of Oikawa's breath. "Silly question."

"Oh my, my, still as pure as ever I see, my dear Suga-kun," Oikawa chuckled, rocking back and forth on the edge of the kitchen table. "Did you still believe I'd improved? How innocent of you."

"You had improved," Suga stated gently, prying Oikawa's fingers off of the bottle. "It was...how long? Four months?"

"Excluding all the great nights spent wasted at nightclubs," Oikawa giggled. "Did you know, Suga-kun, sometimes I'd wake up with somebody else and couldn't even remember them from the night before? Apparently I fuck well when I'm drunk, I got quite a few compliments too on my size!" Oikawa erupted into a fresh fit of laughter, too high-pitched and strangled at the end to be sincere.

"Listen to me." Suga's soothing voice cut through Oikawa's unnatural laughter effortlessly. He'd had lots of practice, after all. "You're going to get down off the kitchen table, and then we're going to go into the sitting room and lie down for a bit, okay? Before you pass out and I have to convince you to get to bed again."

"Ooh, you don't have to convince me to go to bed, believe me," Oikawa winked at him. "I'm much easier than that. Speaking of taking to bed, how's things going with the good ol reliable captain? Managed to charm the pants off of his divine ass yet?"

"Daichi and I are together now, will you please get down-"

"Lucky you. Lucky, lucky you. Because you always get what you want, don't you? Dear Suga-kun, hiding all that determination and will under a guise of kind-heartedness, but god help anyone who gets in your way, right? Poor...what was his name? The guy who used to come to practice? Terushima-something? Can you even remember? Does Sawamura know that his precious little sweetheart-"

"Oikawa!"

Suga's gaze narrowed dangerously, and he pulled Oikawa firmly down from the table.

"Oh," Oikawa laughed out, high-pitched and giggly. "Did I hit a nerve? Maybe several?"

"I knew you were a mean drunk, but this is too far," Suga hissed out.

"Mean?" Oikawa repeated, then a grin split his face. "I think you meant honest, my dear refreshing friend. I'm always mean."

"You're not," Suga announced firmly, steering Oikawa away from the troublesome liquid. "Now go sit down on the couch, and stay there."

“Aw, you’re no fun,” Oikawa complained, resisting slightly. “Can we go out? I wanna go out and get smashed. I haven’t had sex in days, did you know that? That’s way too long. What about you, Suga-kun? Has all the days of hard work and nights alone paid off yet? Have you been fucked deep into the mattress by your honey-buns?”

“Stop with your filthy mouth and sit down,” Suga commanded, his hands suddenly on Oikawa’s shoulders, shoving him onto the couch. “Stay there while I get a glass of water, and don’t even think about getting up.”

“I would never dare of crossing you,” Oikawa said seriously, eyes tracing Suga’s strict gaze. “I know what happens to people that do, and I wouldn’t like to be one of them at all.”

“Sometimes I regret befriending you.”

“Only sometimes? Then, my friend, we’re going well so far. “

Suga returned only seconds later, placing a glass gently down in front of Oikawa, who laughed gaily.

"I'm not that drunk, Suga-kun. Nowhere near wasted. I can still walk and talk, can't I? Now-" Oikawa made to get up. "-as I recall, there's still some vodka left in-"

"No," Sugawara ordered, yanking Oikawa back down. "Drink the water. You're not having any more, and you know you shouldn't."

"Such a killjoy," Oikawa whined, but obediently wrapped his fingers unsteadily around the glass. He tipped it back slowly, shivering at the cool gush down his alcohol-adapted throat.

"Good," Suga praised him, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. He was here to make sure Oikawa was okay, and mainly, to stop him downing any more drink. "And in answer to your question, no, we haven't done it. We've only been together since yesterday, and so only some quite heated making out."

"Nice," Oikawa said approvingly. "I've seen Sawamura's dick in the locker rooms, you're going to have some very~ pleasurable nights ahead of you."

Suga coloured only slightly. "I know. Do you really think I haven't been noting things like that too?"

Oikawa swooned dramatically onto Suga's shoulder. "And his body! Heaven help you when you see him undress!"

"Heaven help him," Suga corrected with a cheeky grin.

"Oh, that's right! I forgot you were a sexual demon disguised as a pure angel."

"Don't question my purity. I am very pure."

"As if. I sense all the dirty fantasies you've had about him," Oikawa merrily sang out. " I know all your secrets."

"You don’t, and I don't think you want to," Suga responded immediately.

Oikawa chuckled, throwing his head back. "You are one of my disciples, I wouldn't expect anything less than utter sin." 

"I was the disciple? Are you sure you weren’t mine?"

"You did teach me about being romantic," Oikawa amended. "Not that I've needed that advice yet, but I'm your official wingman. A successful one, at that!”

“If you think that pointing out to Daichi constantly about how great my ass looks in shorts helped…..” Suga tilted his head, a mischievous yet adorable smile spreading across his face. “Then you’re probably right. He does seem to possess an overly fond habit of palming it a lot.”

Oikawa blurted out a coarse laugh, relaxing back into the sofa. “That’s not all I said, but it might be the only thing that got through to him before he imploded from embarrassment.”

“Oh my goodness,” Sugawara covered his face in his hands. “How could you say anything worse than that?”

Oikawa opened to his mouth to fulfill his request, but Koushi held up a palm. “Nevermind. I don’t want to know about your lack of boundaries.”

“I have boundaries!” Oikawa replied, pulling a face. “They’re very small, but they’re there! Do you think I’d let just anyone have a key to my place? Nope! I gave one to Mattsun one time and that was the biggest mistake of my life. Or possibly greatest. I’m still not quite sure.” Oikawa spurted into another fit of giggles, hugging a pillow close to his chest. 

“What did he do?” Suga asked, reclining back against the seat also when it was apparent Oikawa wasn’t going to make a dash for the kitchen. “Did he wreck the place?”

“Worse,” Oikawa answered, wrinkling up his nose. “He tried to rearrange everything in my kitchen according to shininess.” 

“According to shininess?”

“Makki tried to convince him to draw on the windows with whiteboard marker instead, but he said that he was dead set on it. So I came home to my cupboards absolutely fucked up. He put the cutlery in with the pots and pans, can you believe that? It took me months to straighten it out,” Oikawa sighed out, rolling his eyes. 

Koushi’s eyes were wide, with disbelief or horror or just full of  _ what-the-fuck _ , Oikawa couldn’t tell. Probably a mix of all three. 

“I’m afraid of Mattsun now.” 

“And you weren’t before?” Oikawa snorted. “His instincts are almost as sharp as what’s-his name-that guy from Shiratorizawa, the scary one with the horrendous hair? Looks sort of like a frog?”

“Tendou?”

“Ah, yes, that’s the fucking guy.” 

“Not a fan?”

“Of course not! He blocked most of my spikers! It’s not fair,” Oikawa whined out, huddling nearer to the crushed pillow. “I never beat Ushiwaka, and the one time I got-”

Oikawa clamped up abruptly, not wanting Suga to hear the rapidly growing crack in his voice, identical to the permanent one in his chest. 

“Do you want to continue?” Suga offered gently, touching Oikawa’s arm. 

Oikawa shook his head stubbornly and ferociously, as if wanting to shake out the tears threatening to snake down his cheeks. Despite not being very drunk at all this time, he hated the way it made his guard go down, his emotions more slippery and harder to gloss over. Falling sideways, he sniffed, finding comfort on Suga’s shoulder. He felt an arm encircle his back, Suga’s fingers warmly resting on the top of his head as he shifted to get more comfortable. 

“Do you want to watch Alien Vs Predator?” 

Oikawa nodded just as vigorously as he’d shook his head, and Koushi smiled. 

“Okay then.”

\---------------

"Is that okay?"

Iwaizumi smiled as he pocketed the packet, gratefulness creasing up the corners of his eyes. "It's exactly what I asked for. Thank you."

"It's no trouble. Those ones are only a week old, but make sure to throw them out after two months, alright? No exceptions. There’s already a risk of infection using out of date sutures."

He winced, the tug on his skin making him hope that the sutures he used weren't any more than two months expired. He’d have to make extra sure to clean them when he got back. The aging woman behind the desk tilted her face forward, humming skeptically as she examined him from underneath her lenses. "Hajime, you needed the next packet quicker than usual. You aren't looking for trouble, are you?"

"No. But I won't take any bullshit," Iwaizumi replied, then ducked instinctively as a hand swatted at him over the table. 

"Language, Hajime!"

"Sorry, Hiroka-san," he mumbled, trying hard to hide his grin as he straightened up again.

"I can sense you smiling, you know. That apology didn't fool me."

Iwaizumi chuckled lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll be more careful next time, I promise."

"That's what you say every time," Hiroka grumbled loudly, shuffling through some papers.

"Ah, Hiroka-san..." A timid voice came out from behind Iwaizumi, and he stepped aside quickly, allowing her to pass.

"Thank you!" The girl, blonde and petite, presented a bow to Iwaizumi, who lifted an eyebrow.

"I got out of your way. It isn't a big deal."

She immediately snapped upright again, bright strands bounding around her cheeks as her mouth opened and closed several times in succession, flustered.

"Hajime, stop scaring the interns.  Do you need something, Yaichi?"

"Ah..yes..." She handed over a brown folder in her grasp, which Hiroka scanned down quickly through.

"Alright, I'll take care of the transfer. Thanks, Yaichi."

"No problem!" She squeaked and scurried off again, shoes clicking rapidly and softly on the hard flooring.

"She's new, right? I haven't seen her around before," Iwaizumi commented.

Hiroka nodded absently, rotating to the side to input some details from the file she'd just been given. "Good kid. Always seems like she has nerves made of glass, though I'm sure she'll toughen up after a bit. She has to have a steady heart to make it this far, in any case."

"That's very true," Iwaizumi admitted. "Anyway, I'd better get going. Thanks for everything."

Hiroka's expression softened, gazing up at Iwaizumi. "Any change?"

"No," Iwaizumi answered shortly. "I'll tell you if something happens. You don't have to ask every time."

"Hajime..." Her voice was understanding, yet also sharp.

"Sorry," Iwaizumi mumbled, then sighed. "But I will let you know how she is." 

“I’ll call you if I hear anything, of course. I do work here, after all.”

Hajime nodded, a tight knot in his throat. “Thank you.”

“Now shoo! I have things to do, and don’t you have work today? Don’t be ducking off! Scram!”

She made shooing motions with her hands, which Iwaizumi grinned at, answering with a replying wave as he walked away, down one of the white corridors.

“I’ll see you soon, Hiroka-san.”

Gratitude flooded Iwaizumi’s chest as he wound his way around the idle beds beside all the branching corridors, signs splayed out haphazardly on the walls, but he barely spared a glance for them. He’s been here enough times to know his way back blindfolded. Sometimes he thought of Hiroka-san as his second mother, and mostly he agreed with himself. Ever since he’d started visiting here, she had always been here, welcoming and brisk, always ready to offer some advice or sweets, like Hajime was five again. 

Frowning while he threaded his route through some nurses, Iwaizumi mentally ticked off the years he’d been going here, one by one. 

Six, huh?

Six years already? No wonder Hiroka felt like a mother to him.

Iwaizumi’s body stuttered to a stop, and he almost bumped into a couple rushing past, but he barely noticed. Six years since he’d dropped out of high school to work, furiously trying to earn enough to pay the bills that kept spilling in, month after month. Taking a deep breath, Hajime resumed walking. Get over it. You’ve made it this far, haven’t you? 

She’ll be fine, you know it. You've known that for six years.  


But somehow, his inner voice didn’t sound so sure this time.

\------

Oikawa never thought he’d say this about alien movies, but there was a first for everything, he supposed.

“This is boring,” he complained, eyes half-lidded as he stared emptily at two military people talking. Which had been the entire movie, it seemed. 

“Oh, thank goodness you said it,” Suga sighed out in relief, instantly switching channels. “I was afraid you’d get mad if I said anything.”

“Oh, come on. I have better taste than that garbage,” Oikawa huffed. 

“Those two were cute, though.”

“I’m not here for romance, I’m here for space guns and people dying in creative ways,” Oikawa deadpanned, pushing a pillow against his face. 

“Okay, so how about this one?”

Oikawa didn’t even look before answering. 

“Just pick a movie. Anything less boring than the previous one, which will be everything. Should be everything. Turning off the tv and sitting here in silence would be more thrilling.”

“Of course. I’m here, aren’t I?” Suga shot him a wink before returning to channel-flicking.

“I couldn’t see that, but I know you winked at me,” came Oikawa’s muffled voice from behind the pillow. “I’m not the one you’re trying to charm, although I appreciate your effort.”

“I have to practice,” was the simple reply.

“You don’t have to practice anything, Sawamura’s already blindly smitten with you!” 

“Still not quite smitten enough, in my opinion.”

Oikawa lifted the pillow away from his face to blink at Suga. “You’re cruel. I’m pretty sure he’s already made wedding plans.”

“Oikawa, we’ve been dating one day.”

“He definitely already knows what song he’s going to walk you down the aisle to.”

Suga shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “Are you ever going to let up?”

“Nope,” Oikawa blurted out contentedly. “I’ve had plenty of practice with Makki and Mattsun, so expect to be tortured out of your mind~”

“Spare Daichi, at least.”

“No way! Do you know how much material I already have lined up for him?” 

“How about sparing us during practice?”

“How much will you pay me?”

“Oikawa….”

“Fine, fine! Killjoy…” Oikawa mumbled unhappily, then recalled something. “Ooh, speaking of practice…”

When Suga shot him a suspicious glance, Oikawa waved his concerns away with one hand and an easy grin, hopping to his feet.

“Don’t worry, it has nothing to do with you and Daichi!”

“I wholeheartedly hope so,” Suga said blatantly as Oikawa raced to his bedroom to fetch his phone. Sprawling himself out over the couch messily, Oikawa clicked on the first message thread without hesitation. He wasn’t about to wait for Iwaizumi to text him first-Oikawa just knew he’d be waiting an eternity, like at least a day-so he’d sent a text to himself. Pure genius. 

 

**the perfect one:**  iwa-chan!

 

A few minutes passed, with Oikawa unconsciously chewing the side of his thumbnail anxiously. Maybe he had been joking with Oikawa about being friends. He probably only wanted to get rid of him as soon as possible. He’d already deleted his number. Then his phone dinged, and Oikawa almost had a heart attack. 

 

**iwa-chan :**  Did you really call yourself "the perfect one?" What was wrong with Oikawa?

 

Oikawa grinned. 

 

**the perfect one:**  hello to you too

you knew it was me didn't you

and just putting my name in is boring ಠ_ಠ

**iwa-chan:** You're the only one who calls me that dumb nickname. It wasn't that hard to figure out. I'm changing it.

**the perfect one:** i know u love it really and you wouldn't dare

**iwa-chan:** It's my phone?

**the perfect one** : don't do it i will never forgive you

**iwa-chan :** I was only going to change it to Oikawa. What are you getting annoyed for?

**the perfect one** : ive spent too much time w makki + mattsun.

**iwa-chan** : You sound traumatised.

**the perfect one:** oh trust me i am

also they pda everywhere and i just

ew

**iwa-chan :** Ha, I get you. It's the same with Bokuto and Akaashi sometimes. Bokuto seems to get overwhelmed that Akaashi's actually his boyfriend and suddenly throws his arms around him or kisses him suddenly. It's quite cute.

**the perfect one:** sounds gross.

**iwa-chan :** It's fine as long as they don't get drunk. Then Bokuto becomes a little handsy. Anyway, why did you message me? I'm on my break but I need to get back to work soon.

**the perfect one:** ur so much chattier over text who would've guessed

**iwa-chan** : I'm always chatty. I was probably quieter around you because I'm not used to you yet. It's different texting, though.

**the perfect one:** im hurt I thought we agreed we were friends

**iwa-chan** : We are. Doesn't mean I'll instantly become comfortable with you.

**the perfect one** : you seemed pretty comfortable w me when you were kicking me off the couch

**iwa-chan :** You were being a jerk, it was the only way to get you to move. And you still haven't answered my question.

**the perfect one:** what question?

oh right

that one

come to practice with me!! I play volleyball, you play volleyball, it'll be fun!

**iwa-chan :** Playing with a national level setter? Sounds good. What time?

**the perfect one** : its on thurs @ 2

well i wont be playing much but ill be sure to send you some tosses

wait what position do you play

wing spiker right?

**iwa-chan** : Right. I won’t be playing much either, have you forgotten about the massive cut along my torso?

**the perfect one:** oh yeah. that. and what number?

**iwa-chan :** Back in high school, number four.

**the perfect one:** ace??

**iwa-chan :** Yep.

**the perfect one:** impressive. what about now?

**iwa-chan** : I'm not officially part of the team, since I don't go to college there. The guys are just nice enough to let me practice with them.

**the perfect one:** ahh, okay. tbh the only reason ive lasted this long in college is because of volleyball

**iwa-chan** : How long do you have left?

**the perfect one:**  around a year or so i think

**iwa-chan:** You think?

**the perfect one:** its boring

how am i supposed to keep track of boring things

Iwaizumi's thumb hovered uncertainly over the phone, wondering if he should reply with his automatic, wistful thought. Even if it's boring, I wish I could experience it too.

**iwa-chan:** Wouldn't you pick a course that you liked?

**the perfect one:** yeah well I thought id like it and i never really planned to go to uni in the first place so

**iwa-chan:** What changed?

 

Oikawa hesitated, teeth gnawing on his lower lip. He didn't want to tell the story of how he failed right now. Or ever, actually.

 

**the perfect one:** ill tell you later

 

Tilting his head sideways, Iwaizumi weighed up Oikawa's oddly somber text with a small frown.

"Oi, Iwaizumi, help us out here!"

A shout from the front of the store startled him to his feet, automatically responding to Ukai's command.

"I'll be there in a second," he called back, typing furiously.

 

**iwa-chan:** I need to go now. I'll text you later, okay?

**the perfect one:** okay have fun!! 

**iwa-chan** : Thanks.

\----

"Iwa-chan's coming to practice!" Oikawa chirped out happily to Suga. "You'll get to meet him!"

"Iwa-chan’s Iwaizumi, I'm assuming? That guy you met? We talked briefly on the phone," Suga said. "He sounded decent enough."

"When did you two talk?"

"After I heard your voicemail. He'd just left you off."

"About that...." Oikawa grew closer, smirking at Suga. "Why didn't you answer, Suga-kun?"

"I know what you're thinking, and no. I was in the bath."

Oikawa sat back, his expression full of dismay. "Aw, I was hoping for something a little more steamy."

"Is that a horrible pun I hear?"

"No. It's an excellent pun you just heard." 

Suga raised an eyebrow, taking in Oikawa’s self-satisfied chuckling. “I disagree, but let’s stay on topic. Iwaizumi. What’s he like? How’d you two come across each other?”

Oikawa shrugged, casting his mind back to the hours they spent together. “We get along well. I kind of started off being a dick to him, but he didn’t seem to care much. That’s practically a necessity if you want to be my friend, so I decided to take pity on him and grace him with my friendship. But there’s one thing wrong with him!” Here Oikawa sat up straight, staring seriously at Suga. “He likes tofu! What right-minded human likes tofu?”

“I don’t know. Ask yourself what human in their right mind has the entire script of Independence Day learned off by heart.”

“That’s below the belt, Suga-kun. And not in the good way.”

“Sorry Oikawa, but only Daichi gets below my belt. Anyway, how did you guys meet?”

Oikawa’s teeth caught his lower lip, chewing softly, as Suga asked, “did you sleep with him?”

“No...” Oikawa said, unsure of whether to tell Suga the story or not. “It wasn’t a hook up.”

“Then what?” Suga pried, his eyebrows raised up high in surprise. “Did you meet him in a bar? Or were you lost and asked him for directions?”

Oikawa tensed up under Sugawara’s questions, for reasons he didn’t fully understand. Perhaps it was because he never opened up to anyone about exactly where he went or what he did when he vanished, or maybe it was recalling the glimmer in the men’s eyes that unsettled him. 

“A...bit of both,” Oikawa admitted. 

Suga frowned. “Then how did you end up staying two days with him?”

“It just happened,” Oikawa announced, turning away from Suga to bury himself deeper into the sofa. “Now, what film to watch next?”

Suga, still undeniably curious, gazed at Oikawa for a moment or two more before sighing and facing the tv. He’ll do a little digging later, he promised himself. 

\------

Iwaizumi lay down, face-first, on his bed and didn’t want to move. Turning his face towards the clock on his nightstand, he groaned. Two hours until he had to report in for the night shift at the factory. Pressing his face back into the sheets, Iwaizumi tried to convince himself that he was lucky he had work at all. The shop, as it always was when he was called in, was a mess of customers and stressed staff, few and far between. At least tomorrow was Tuesday, he didn’t mind working in the garage at all. In fact, he enjoyed it. Machines were much easier to handle than people. 

Iwaizumi’s nose scrunched up as it gradually hit him that his bed had a weird smell to it, like mint swirled through….what was it? Scents had never been Hajime’s strong suit, and this one was eluding him just as well as the names for the fancy ass little bottles did. He inhaled again, deeper this time, and images of carefully arranged brown hair flashed through his mind. Oh. So that’s why his bed smelt odd. Oikawa had slept here. Iwaizumi gave a short, satisfied nod into the duvet, having cleared up the little mystery in his mind. It smelled....actually kind of nice. Pleasant, even. Hajime suddenly lost even more motivation to move. 

Now, what to do with those two hours? Sleep, his body declared. Eat, his stomach argued back with a stubborn growl. Why was he so tired anyway? He usually wasn’t this exhausted...Iwaizumi recalled last night, and smacked his forehead against the mattress. He’d stayed up late with Oikawa to watch movies. And screwed up Hajime’s healthy sleeping schedule. He really wanted to take a quick power nap. However, his stomach had other ideas.

"Fine, fine," Iwaizumi groaned out in submission, pushing himself up off of the bed.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he ran a hand back through his tousled hair, trying to blink away the sleepiness.

As he wandered into the kitchen, he mentally tried to work out the budget he had for food. The hospital bill, plus water, electricity, rent, etc., against the income from work... left him with very little. Fuck.

Opening up  his fridge, he absently scratched his stomach and winced, having momentarily forgotten about his injury. It was a good sign that it was itchy, he reasoned as he took out some chicken from friday and sniffed it experimentally. It meant that it was healing. Deciding that it was okay, he quickly rustled up a sandwich with it, dumping himself in front of the tv and praying he didn’t fall asleep. 

\------

“Text him now!”

“Suga-kun, you don’t know anything about playing hard to get, do you?” Oikawa replied casually, stretching out on the floor beside the sofa. Suga had gotten fed up of his lanky frame and decided to chuck him off, much to Oikawa’s dismay. “You don’t text first. That’s just how it is.”

“That’s with a crush,” Suga protested. “When you want to be better friends with someone, you have to make the effort. Didn’t you text him first in the first place?”

“Exactly why I can’t text him again,” Oikawa declared, staring at his phone. “He said he’d text me later. It’s later.”

“Ah, it is,” Suga said, slightly worriedly. “I can’t stay here overnight, so I’ll have to be leaving soon.”

Oikawa rolled over onto his back, aiming a massive smirk up at the grey-haired man. “Date with your starry-eyed lover?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s a yes!” Oikawa sat up, leering at Suga with a dangerously suggestive grin. “Any  _ special~ _ plans, oh pure one?”

“Maybe,” Suga conceded with an equally suggestive smile. “And maybe not.”

“Ring me later with every detail,” Oikawa commanded. “There’s no way I’m missing out on the description of Sawamura’s reaction when he finds out you’re not as innocent as he seems to believe you are.”

“Oikawa, I’m not sleeping with him after one date.”

“One  _ official _ date,” Oikawa corrected. “You’ve been in love with each since high school, I don’t think it’s a sin if you hop into his pants tonight. It’s well overdue.Why would you schedule a date so late in the first place if you’re not intending to take it further?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind if he made a move, but I’m not sure if he’s ready,” Suga admitted. “He tends to implode into a blush every time I mention something sexual.”

“Adorable!” Oikawa sang out, then winked. “I’ve noticed that too, but if you’re waiting for him to make a move, you may be waiting quite a while.” 

“I’m patient,” Suga responded with a serene smile, flicking some of his silvery hair out of his eyes. “For now, I’m happy with his company.” 

“Fuck him,” Oikawa stated. 

Suga was about to reply when his phone vibrated, and the easy chimes of a calming song clinked through the air. “Ah, that’s him…” Suga glanced down at his phone and smiled. “I’d better take this. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“If you want to have phone sex, I’m cool with it as long as I’m in the same room,” Oikawa called out, earning a sharp glare and a finger pressed to Suga’s lips as he walked out. 

Oikawa’s attention returned to his own phone as soon as he heard the soft ring of Suga’s voice in the hallway, scowling down at the empty screen. Why hadn’t Iwa-chan texted him back yet? It had been like centuries...at least a couple of hours! 

“I don’t care anyway,” Oikawa huffed out, flinging his arms out. 

He lasted about ten seconds before he checked his phone again. 

“Argh….” Oikawa pouted, his frustration beginning to fold in on himself. Why was he always so clingy, anyway? He was so intent on attention, and yet he wasn’t willing to open up to people. It made no fucking sense, and it was what drove people towards him at first, then away when they realised, despite his verbal assurances, he was keeping them at an arm’s length. It was stupid, and Oikawa was tired of it, tired of himself. 

Biting hard onto his lower lip, Oikawa’s expression wavered, listening to Suga’s airy, free laughter. It sounded so beautiful, so real. Oikawa couldn’t contain the bolt of envy striking through his chest, and he squeezed his eyes closed. Attempting to tune out of the two sweetheart’s conversation was no use, so Oikawa clambered to his feet slowly and pattered into the kitchen, past a grinning Suga in the hallway. He was reaching for the cupboard handle when a familiar sound came from the sitting room. Oikawa froze, wondering if he’d imagined it. Did...did Iwa-chan actually text him? He wasn’t just saying that to get rid of him? Padding back into the living room, Oikawa was almost afraid to check his phone, lit up on the rug as he knelt down, scooping it up fluidly. 

There was a new message on screen.

**iwa-chan:** Do you think it’s dangerous to have five cups of coffee within a half an hour?

Oikawa smiled. 

**the perfect one:** only if your heart is weak. this is coming from a college student trust me i know what im talking about 

**iwa-chan:** Good. Time to go for a sixth, then. 

Oikawa laughed out loud, and Suga frowned in the hallway, tilting his head to the side. Daichi picked up instantly on his silence.

“What’s wrong, Suga?”

“Nothing,” Suga said slowly, as a smile fluttered onto his lips. “Nothing at all.”

He hadn’t heard Oikawa laugh like that in a long time. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the late update  
> and I'm sorry if there's stupid mistakes in this one  
> me?? a fondness for writing mentally fucked up characters?? never.


	5. Save Kindaichi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> poor kindaichi. someone help the poor child. lots of mattsun and makki being.....their own gay selves, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "amBER DO ALL THIS IN ONE CHAPTER IT'LL BE FUN AND INTERESTING"  
> me, the day before an update is due : help  
> long story short i had to split it into two  
> also it's a fucking mess because of my overly optimistic goals

Tuesday evening, and Iwaizumi was going to have the longest nap in the history of mankind, as soon as he rid himself of the sweat prickling over his body. Shedding his oil-splattered, old clothes and wishing he could shed the oil coated over his fingers so easily, he left them on the bathroom floor as he stepped into the shower. The moment the water kissed his skin, Hajime jolted away from the gush, barely able to hold back his yelp to a vicious hiss. 

Who  _ the fuck _ took showers that hot?

Who the fuck had turned it up so high in the first place?

Oikawa goddamn Tooru, that’s who.

Sighing heavily, Iwaizumi extended a hand and rotated the temperature back to an actually tolerable temperature. He should’ve expected this, but in all honesty, he kind of forgot that Oikawa was the last person to use his shower. As he was about to step back under the flow, his phone chimed from the depths of his jeans. 

“Speak of the devil,” Iwaizumi murmured as he fished it out, but it was Kuroo. Although really, the same phrase applied. 

 

**Kuroo:** are you coming to practice

**Hedgehog-chan:** I don’t think so.

**Kuroo:** aw come on don’t make me tell kindaichi that you’re not coming

his face just drops so fast and it even makes me feel bad

plus you know we can’t control kyoutani don’t do this to us

**Hedgehog-chan:** I’ll see if I can turn up for the last half hour or so. I had the night shift, so I’m pretty wrecked. Plus, you know my injury is still healing. 

**Kuroo:** good enough i guess. at least kin won’t look at me like a kicked puppy this time

**Hedgehog-chan:** I’m sure he doesn’t anyway. You tend to exaggerate. 

**Kuroo** : i do not exaggerate. if you’re referring to when i told u kin likes u that is not an exaggeration at all

**Hedgehog-chan:** I don’t see it.

**Kuroo:** ???kindaichi has a massive gay crush on you how are you missing this

**Hedgehog-chan:** He looks up to me as a spiker, I know. But I don’t think it’s anything more than that.

**Kuroo:** ughughguhguhguhguhughughughughugh 

**Hedgehog-chan:** Fascinating response as always, but I’m going to shower now. I’ll see you soon.

**Kuroo:** im gonna prove this to you at kin’s expense

**Hedgehog-chan:** Leave him alone, Kuroo. Didn’t you have your sights set on Kunimi to harass next?

**Kuroo** : no he’s like akaashi he’s too goddamn hard to crack and i swear i won’t embarrass him

too much

**Hedgehog-chan:** I don’t have time to argue with you right now, but you’re not going to embarrass him. 

**Kuroo:** oh ho ho spiky-kun’s getting feisty

im sure kin-kun would love it if you intervened and defended him 

 

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi plopped his phone back on top of his clothes and entered under the shower, his body splitting the water as a contented sigh floated out from Hajime’s throat. Leaning back, he angled his face to allow the water to dance pleasantly down his throat and chest, stinging a little as it seeped into the cracks in his skin. He let the tension soak out of his muscles as he massaged shampoo into his stubbornly stuck-up brown strands of hair, freeing his mind to drift around, blissfully blank. He had around an hour or so until practice, and he could grab some food on the way back. He let the thought slip from his mind, and relaxed into the comfortably cool temperature of the gentle water caressing his skin. 

After a few minutes, he reluctantly switched it off, shuffling out into the bathroom to encase himself in a towel. One thing that he liked about not having hot showers was that it always made stepping out so much easier-the air didn’t send shivers bolting up his spine, or send wishes through him that he could stay longer. Wondering how Oikawa could stand to get out, Iwaizumi fastened the towel around his waist and checked his stitches quickly, disinfecting them also. All seemed to be clearing up well down there, so Iwaizumi shrugged away his concerns that playing volleyball would reopen the wound. If that happened, he’d stitch it up again. Simple as. If he was being honest with himself, he missed playing volleyball with an official team, wearing a number that defined him to everyone as the ace, the one all his teammates and all the pressure could lean on and he wouldn’t crack. Iwaizumi allowed himself one wistful sigh, then occupied himself with tidying away his clothes on the floor. Dwelling never got anyone anywhere. 

\-------

"Oi, there's Iwaizumi!"

"He came after all, huh..."

"Well, well, look who decided to show up..."

Kuroo sauntered over to Iwaizumi, who took in the layout of the gym quickly. It looked like they were playing three on three matches, which meant he'd missed spiking practice. The current set-up was Akaashi, Kyoutani and Kindaichi Vs Yahaba, Bokuto and Lev. As he watched, Kyoutani leapt up into the air, arched backwards and then performed the most aggressive feint he'd ever seen. Hajime smiled, pride running through his body as the receivers dropped flat, unsuccessful. How a feint could be that vicious, he didn't know, but the pride remained.

"Kuroo, that means nothing. I'm here almost every time."

"Not enough," Kuroo argued back, grabbing the front of Iwaizumi's shirt and dragging him over to where the idle players were waiting. On the other side of the gym, Ennoshita, Yamaguchi, Narita and Kinoshita were gathered together, along with Yamamoto and Kunimi, presumably finished from the last match. Iwaizumi nodded at them, and received several waves in return.

"Iwaizumi decided to join us," Kuroo announced unnecessarily, letting go of his top.

Kenma ignored him and Aone nodded solemnly at him, but apart from those two, he got a chorus of verbal greetings, to which he responded to each in kind. Yuuji and Tanaka started bickering in front of him, shoving each other aside as they attempted to drown out the other. Kuroo forced his way in between them with a grunt and a sigh. "Now, now, calm down and say what you want to say to Iwaizumi clearly."

"What is it?" Iwaizumi asked, mystified.

"It's been three months, and we're ready to challenge you to a rematch!" Tanaka declared, rapidly rolling up his t-shirt sleeves, exactly like Iwaizumi did sometimes.

"Bring it on," Iwaizumi answered steadily, folding up the sleeves of his loose t-shirt too. "I'm expecting more of a challenge this time."

"Leave it until practice is over," Kuroo said, shoving at Tanaka and Yuuji's faces to force them backwards. "The match's about to end."

Aone blew the whistle as Kindaichi's palm smashed the ball into the ground, evading Lev's attempt at blocking.

"Nice one, Kindaichi!" Iwaizumi yelled out, earning him a modest smile from the junior.

"Lev, I've fucking told you not to spread your arms out too much!" Kuroo shouted with his hands waving up in the air in annoyance. "Kindaichi hits longer than everyone else, you need to concentrate on blocking further sideways than usual!"

"Gotcha!" Lev saluted enthusiastically, the side of his palm leaving a red line across his forehead.

"That idiot," Kuroo muttered affectionately, then turned back to the group. "Alright, Iwaizumi and Aone, you're with me. Kenma, you're with Yuji and Tanaka."

Kenma glowered at Kuroo, and Iwaizumi would've sworn he heard him hiss. "This is because I didn't let you play Dark Souls last night."

"Not at all," Kuroo declared, then Iwaizumi cut in, frowning, "who's going to set for us?"

"Aone's been practicing some tosses, so he'll use this time to practice."

"Have you? That's impressive," Iwaizumi commented to Aone. "I can't set to save my life."

Aone nodded solemnly back. "Pleased to set for you, Iwaizumi-san."

"Alright, alright, let's decide on the starting order and get on the court!" Kuroo announced, clapping his hands together. "Actually, I'll decide for you. Aone and Iwaizumi, you're on the back line. Kenma, you serve first since we're running out of time and I'm too lazy to toss a coin."

"Alright..." Kenma dragged himself over to the opposite line, picking up a ball lethargically on his way. Tanaka and Yuuji galloped onto the court, arguing loudly about who would make the most spikes or something like that. Iwaizumi positioned himself on the court at the back, across from Aone and behind Kuroo at the net, praying that his wound would be okay.

"Everyone ready?" Kuroo asked, and got a collective nodding in response.

"Kenma, nice serve!"

The match was a thankful blur of shouts and strategies to counter the serious firepower of Kenma's team. A couple of times Iwaizumi felt a dangerously sharp tug from his torso, but luckily it appeared not to get any worse, at least when he wasn’t sliding on the floor. Yuuji and Tanaka called the same ball quite a few times, and it was amusing to see them crash straight into each other. Kuroo had to take a few minutes to regain his breath after one incident where Tanaka ended up on his back, folded over in half with his butt up in the air. Kenma looked like he wanted to murder Kuroo slowly and incredibly painfully, and that was only halfway through the match.

In the end, Kuroo's team emerged victorious, despite a number of missed tosses from a still-learning Aone. They were cancelled out by the amount of times Yuuji and Tanaka tried to replicate Iwaizumi's spikes, especially the cut shot. Iwaizumi had seen Bokuto perform it flawlessly in the first year he came here, and had practiced the hell out of it. Now, it was practically untouchable.

“Alright, receiving drills and then we’re finishing up!” Kuroo called out, clapping his hands together twice. 

Some groans accompanied his statement, and in answer Kuroo added, “next practice we’re going to do double the amount if you keep complaining.”

The protesters shut up after that, and the players arranged themselves in place;two lines on either side of the net, a setter for each as the first player ran up and spiked the ball somewhere on that half of the court as the opposing player tried to receive it. The end member of the spiking line tossed up the ball. It was a routine Kuroo and Akaashi had conceived together, and sometimes it worked well, and sometimes it didn’t. 

“Nice one, Kindaichi! That was difficult to receive!” Iwaizumi praised, jogging around to the other side of the net.

But you still got it, Kindaichi wanted to say, but fuck, Iwaizumi-san could receive so damn well, it was hard to ever score a point because he messed up a receive. 

Iwaizumi took his place in line behind Kyoutani silently, but rested a hand on his head and ruffled his short, bristly hair. 

“Well done on your last hit.” Short, frank and straight to the point. 

Kyoutani nodded, and his posture straightened up just a little more. Only Iwaizumi could’ve gotten away with that without Kyoutani whirling around and glowering threateningly at them, inwardly swearing to blast spikes right at them. Kindaichi had perhaps let his envious stare linger a little too long, because Kyoutani’s black-rimmed eyes caught it, and narrowed. Quickly glancing away, Kindaichi made sure to soften his expression out of the jealous frown, but he gathered that Kyoutani had guessed what it meant regardless. He wasn’t stupid, and Kindaichi was less than proficient at masking over his emotions. 

Still, everything was running smoothly, until the very last spike was hit.

"Kindaichi, look out!"

Kindaichi's head snapped towards the shout, but before he could comprehend that he should move out of the path of the volleyball speeding towards his face, a blur blocked it. A handsome blur with spiky hair and delightfully large arms. Iwaizumi rotated around as the ball plopped harmlessly to the floor, facing Kindaichi and his raging heartbeat. 

"Sorry. You could've blocked that, but you looked preoccupied with something. I wasn't sure if you'd react in time."

Kindaichi's palms suddenly felt very sweaty against the ball clamped against his shirt, swallowing hard to smile back weakly. It was just...Iwaizumi was so.....Iwaizumi. The biggest compliment Kindaichi could get was that he reminded somebody of Iwaizumi, because that meant...it meant that he was...Kindaichi's mind was stuttering for words so badly that he didn't realise he hadn't said anything, nothing to thank him, and shit he was going-

"Thanks, Iwaizumi-san!" Kindaichi croaked, his voice coming out dry and nervous. He cringed inwardly, thanking god he'd gotten rid of the stutter from high school, at least.

"I told you before, just Iwaizumi is fine," Iwaizumi said casually-how did he manage to keep his voice so even and controlled-"And it's no problem. I couldn't stand by and let one of my favourite kouhais be hit by Kyoutani's spikes."

Kyoutani, of course. Kindaichi turned sideways to meet his constantly-furious gaze, narrowing his eyes just slightly.

"Don't worry, I don't think it could've caused much damage," Kindaichi said, then the rest of what Iwaizumi said soaked in.

One of his favourite kouhais.

Favourite kouhai.

His favourite....!!!

Kindaichi's heart started pumping a million miles a minute. Then Iwaizumi laughed-laughed at what Kindaichi said!-and outstretched a hand to lightly smack his shoulder. That didn't help Kindaichi's heart rate at all.

"Acting tough will only get you so far, but that statement was cool, I must admit. And..." here he spun around to face Kyoutani, currently bending down to collect up a ball. "Oi, Kyoutani! Be more careful with your spikes!"

"Why do you never say that when he abuses my fingers?" Kuroo yelled across the court.

"Because you deserve it,” Iwaizumi yelled back, earning him some snickers from the players who overheard. 

Kyoutani nodded reluctantly in acknowledgment. "Okay."

As childish as it was, Kindaichi couldn't help himself sticking his tongue out at him behind Iwaizumi's back. His plan to humiliate Kindaichi had backfired in the most wonderful way-for Kindaichi, at least! Kyoutani's answer was a subtle middle finger as Iwaizumi jogged off, to which Kindaichi mouthed the words, "one of his favourite kouhai." Kyoutani scowled back furiously, pointing two fingers at his eyes and then at Kindaichi viciously. In reply, Kindaichi rolled his eyes. Wow, scary. 

Kindaichi was still buzzing so much from his encounter with Hajime that he didn’t notice the master of bedhead slithering up to him, a smirk gliding onto his lips.

“So,” Kuroo said, leaning uncomfortably close to Kindaichi. “When did you realise you’re completely and utterly whipped for him?”

“What  are you talking about?” Kindaichi denied, but he couldn’t lie convincingly, and definitely not to Kuroo. 

“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about, Kin-kun. Your massive crush on our beloved spiker.”

"I don't have a crush on him!"

"It's okay, he doesn't realise it. He's the thickest person alive when it comes to emotions," Kuroo drawled out.

"He's not thick!" Kindaichi blurted out before seeing Kuroo's grin widen.

"Don't have a crush on him, hm? Awfully defensive of him, aren't you?"

Kuroo leaned further forward, his hands cocked on his waist, full teasing mode activated. Kindaichi glanced around frantically for help, but Iwaizumi was on the other side of the court, chatting away to Yahaba, likely about his latest serve, and the only people coming over were... Kindaichi's heart sank down even further.

"Oh ho ho, are you doing this already?" Bokuto questioned Kuroo, who winked in reply. Or he might've just been blinking. It was hard to tell with him.

"What do you mean, already? It's well overdue. Kin-kun's slipped under my harassment radar for the whole year he's been here. It's about time."

"Kuroo-san, please," Akaashi interjected, throwing Kindaichi a pitying look. Kindaichi attempted to make his escape."If you don't mind, I need to-"

"You can stay a bit," Kuroo said smoothly, Bokuto and Kuroo ringing him like two sharks.

"So," Bokuto started. "Iwaizumi. Why don't you ask him out?"

"Because I have no reason to," Kindaichi answered, trying to hide how flustered he was. And suppress the automatic thought of, "he's way too cool for me."

"You have every reason to!" Bokuto insisted. "Did you see the expression on his face when he was arm wrestling Yuuji? That was hoooot."

Hoot? Kindaichi crinkled his forehead up. Or hot?

"He did," Kuroo cut in smoothly. "Kin-kun appeared to be quite keen on it. I assume you were rooting for Iwaizumi?"

"Of course."

"Speaking of that," Bokuto butted in. "If Iwaizumi and I had a match, who do you think would win?"

Kindaichi blinked. "As in volleyball or arm wrestling?"

"Arm wrestling. I'm way better at volleyball." 

Kuroo heaved a sigh. "Bokuto, this is off topic."

"I want to hear what he has to say."

"Uhh..." Kindaichi's gaze flickered to Bokuto's biceps and then to his very solid and detailed memory of Iwaizumi's. "I think it would be a very close match."

"But who would win?" Bokuto persisted. 

"I couldn't say," Kindaichi settled on. 

"There you go, so can we move on?" Kuroo cut in before Bokuto could say anything more. "Listen, I'm trying to give you some friendly advice here. Iwaizumi is never going to realise your feelings for him, no matter how obvious you make it."

"What Kuroo-san is trying to say," Akaashi added. "Is that you should ask Iwaizumi-san out." "Or even better, confess to him in front of everyone like Bokuto did to Akaashi," Kuroo chipped in with a sly glance at Bokuto. Akaashi was quick to comment.

"Please don't. It was very embarrassing for all involved." 

"But I just got so caught up and excited and it just slipped out!" Bokuto protested. "It worked, didn't it? You're my boyfriend!" He got a slightly dazed look on his face. "You're my boyfriend...." 

"Yes, I am." Akaashi pulled Bokuto close by the arm and, swaying forward on his tip-toes, kissed his cheek softly.

"Gross," Kuroo complained as the biggest smile Kindaichi had ever seen spread across Bokuto's face. “Stop now, please. I’ve seen Bokuto’s tongue more than I’ve ever wanted to.”

When Kindaichi frowned, Kuroo just shook his head with the solemn air of a war survivor. 

“It’s better not to ask.” 

“Things will turn out okay!” Bokuto encouraged him brightly, clasping Akaashi’s hand in his. “Take a risk! When it works out, it’s the best feeling in the world!”

With that, he directed a gentle smile over at Akaashi, who returned it in full. Kindaichi rarely saw such an expression of contentment on Akaashi’s usually serenely blank face before. It made him feel happy for them and want to vomit at the same time. 

Kuroo, of course, went the vomiting route and made very accurate gagging noises.

“Bro, I love you and all, but you gotta stop with the public displays of sappy.”

“I can’t help it,” Bokuto defended himself. “Akaashi’s perfect.”

“We know.” Kuroo deadpanned with a sigh. “We know. You can stop.” 

“You can continue at home,” Akaashi mentioned quietly as Kuroo rolled his eyes heavily and stuck a finger down his throat. 

“Oi, Kuroo! I don’t trust you around Kindaichi, lay off him!” 

As Kindaichi’s heartbeat went into overdrive, Kuroo faced Iwaizumi and waved innocently over at him. “I’m not doing anything, so you can stop being so defensive of your little-” he glanced over at Kindaichi briefly, who, at eighteen, had hit two metres, “-very tall admirer. I’m just giving him some helpful tips.”

Iwaizumi ignored him and strode a little closer to the small group. “Kindaichi, is he bothering you?”

“Oh...oh, no, it’s fine,” Kindaichi said hesitantly. “As he said, he’s just giving me a few tips.”

Iwaizumi gave Kindaichi a doubtful look and aimed a suspicious glance at Kuroo, who shrugged and grinned as innocent as he could. 

“What can I say, I’m simply a kind soul. I share my wealth of knowledge.” 

Iwaizumi snorted in reply, and Kindaichi had to hide his smile. 

“Hey,” Kuroo pouted out. “Why’re you laughing?”

“No reason.”

“Nothing.”

Kindaichi and Iwaizumi shared an amused smile at Kuroo’s expense, and Kindaichi felt the hairs rise at the back of his neck. Could he actually….could Kuroo be right?

Should he make a move on Iwaizumi? 

Kindaichi had no idea, and the indecision was eating him up inside. When practice ends I’ll make a decision, he promised himself.

For sure. 

\------

"Still up for that rematch?" Iwaizumi asked Tanaka after finishing up, towelling off his face.

"Hell yes I am, damn it!"

"Don't forget about your other challenger!" Yuuji pushed Tanaka aside, pierced nose almost shoved right up to Iwaizumi's face. "I'll beat your ass this time!"

"Well, good luck. Locker room, right?"

"Right!"

"Hey, don't take too long, the basketball losers will want this gym soon," Kuroo called out as everyone eagerly crammed into the locker room.

"Oh, wrestle me too!" Bokuto yelled out eagerly, folding up his sleeve.

"Not today dude," Yuuji declared, kneeling down across from Iwaizumi, the bench in between them. “He’s all mine.” 

"Good luck, Iwaizumi-san!" Kindaichi blurted out, his hands raised up and curled into excited fists. "You can beat 'em!"

"Thanks," Iwaizumi answered as he clasped Yuuji's hand in his, staring down those brown eyes steadily.

"Ooh, intimidating," Yuuji clicked his tongue, then stuck it out defiantly at Iwaizumi. 

“Real mature, Terushima,” Iwaizumi chided, glancing up at Kuroo. “Want to do the honours?”

“Always,” Kuroo replied, then rested his hand on top of theirs, counting down dramatically from five. “Go!”

Iwaizumi felt the instant pressure on his hand and got pressed back a few inches before his biceps kicked in, mediating it back to the middle without too much difficulty. Clenching his teeth, Iwaizumi kept up the constant force, tuning out the shouts of encouragement and focusing on the single bead of sweat at Yuuji’s hairline. It was one of his tricks, helping him concentrate on channeling all his strength into his arm. The edges of his vision went blurry, and through narrowed eyes he watched the sweat dribble down Yuuji’s forehead slowly, his palm pushing Yuuji’s back another fraction. He met Terushima’s gaze as his hand advanced gradually, but steadily. Yuuji grunted in frustration, and his eyes flickered to the side for a moment. Distracted. Iwaizumi took his chance and slammed the back of Terushima’s palm home. As a smile grew across Iwaizumi’s face as the roar of the crowd around them blasted into his ears, and Yuuji barely got the chance to yell out his curses before Tanaka was shouldering him aside. 

“Hard luck, Terushima! My turn now, and I’ll show you how it’s done!”

“Bring it,” Iwaizumi challenged over Yuuji’s protest of ,“I was tired after scoring more points than you!” 

“Lame excuse,” Tanaka answered offhandedly, tilting his bald head back to contort his face into one of his most effective expressions. Effective, perhaps, on other less secure people, but not on Hajime. 

Iwaizumi grasped his open hand, allowing himself a small smile. 

“Good luck, Tanaka.” 

“Pfft, who needs-”

“Go!”

Tanaka’s hand was laid out to rest on the bench in a second flat. 

“Wait!” He spluttered, smacking his hands down on the bench. “I was talking, I wasn’t ready-”

“I’m the ref, and I declare Iwaizumi won,” Kuroo drawled out. 

“You didn’t even count down!”

“Tanaka, it’s fine,” Iwaizumi said, offering out his hand again and aiming a sharp glance up at Kuroo. “Be fair this time, Kuroo.”

Kuroo looked bored, but nodded with a heavy sigh. “Fine, spoilsport. One, three, go.”

In fairness to Tanaka, he lasted longer the second time around, but it still wasn’t long until the back of his hand hit the steel bench. 

“Defeated again,” Tanaka groaned out miserably, his forehand laying on the bench in despair. “Next time, I swear-”

“Show’s over everyone, time to clear up!” Kuroo announced with an entirely straight face. 

Everyone streamed out of the locker room apart from Kenma, who attempted to hide behind the lockers until Kuroo went over and looked at him. Iwaizumi paused in the doorway, wondering if he saw that right. Kuroo...had just looked at Kenma and he started moving. They didn’t exchange a word. Iwaizumi, marvelling, resuming moving, wondering if that was the power of being best friends for twenty or so years. It occurred to him that Bokuto and Akaashi had a similar thing going on, with how well Akaashi could read Bokuto. How long had they known each other? Around six years now, Iwaizumi estimated, scratching the side of his head. So it could happen with people who didn’t know each other practically since birth? What if he had that connection with someone? It would be nice, Iwaizumi reflected wistfully. The thought didn’t linger long though. Hajime wasn’t the type of guy to ponder “what-ifs” for more than thirty seconds. Within those thirty seconds, however, he found a sort of longing in him. A longing for someone who he clicked with, gelled with, just like that. 

Iwaizumi paused, just long enough for a single thought to flit into his mind. 

What about Oikawa?

Nah, Iwaizumi decided almost immediately. 

Way too… he couldn’t find the proper word. Annoying? Not quite. Iwaizumi’s tolerance for irritating shit was high, even if he acted otherwise. Invasive? Iwaizumi shrugged to himself, agreeing but not really...caring? He never was one for being married to his personal boundaries, and they’d dropped even more with having Bokuto and Kuroo as friends. 

He couldn’t point at one trait which made him think Oikawa couldn’t be a close friend of his.

_ I don’t know him that well yet. _

That was it. He didn’t know Oikawa well at all. 

_ I’ll have to work on that, then. _

\--------

Oh god.

Oh,  _ god _ .

Was he really doing this?

Kindaichi hopped forward on the balls of his feet with frantic energy, trying to work up the courage to head into the locker rooms. Now, usually it wasn’t a big deal, but Iwaizumi was in there. Iwaizumi, and nobody else. It was his turn to pack away all the practice vests for next time, and he’d be out soon. Kindaichi had to do it now, but there was already blood rushing to dust his cheeks with spots of red. Was he actually going to take Kuroo’s advice? Could he? 

Soft footsteps sounded behind him, and he barely turned around before Kunimi slapped Kindaichi on the back. Quite hard, actually. It stung. Kunimi was one of those people who were skinny but as strong as hell for some reason. Kindaichi overheard Bokuto and Kuroo theorising once about whether Kunimi was a vampire or not. He certainly was handsome enough to be one and definitely sparkled. 

"You have this," he assured Kindaichi quietly.

Kindaichi, grateful for his support although he didn't know how he knew what he was planning to do, aimed a nervous smile back at him. "Thanks, Kunimi. I guess the worst thing that could happen is that he says no. You don't think Kuroo-san will tease me forever if that happens?" 

"Nah. He'd tease you forever if you didn't do this," Kunimi pointed out calmly. "That's why he bothers you in the first place. He's trying to help, in his own irritating way."

"You don't think he's setting me up?" He asked worriedly.

"Kuroo isn't mean. Now get in there." Kumini accompanied his sentence with a soft push forward, and then Kindaichi was through the doorway. Iwaizumi was crouched down, tidying away the bibs in the corner, and he glanced up when Kindaichi entered. "Did you forget something?"

Kindaichi's spit felt much too thick in his mouth as he swallowed, eyes anxiously flickering around.  Anything to not focus on the fact he was totally alone in the room with Iwaizumi. "Yea...."  he started, "I mean, no..."

It's okay, he told himself. Breathe. It's Iwaizumi-san, he isn't going to mock me.

"I was wondering if you'd like to hang out sometime," he blurted out abruptly. Hajime, standing up with a slight frown, hesitated a second too long for Kindaichi's racing heart.

"I meant at the bar with the guys, of course," he spluttered, his rigid shoulders risen and tense. He almost didn't have the nerve to lower his gaze to meet Iwaizumi's eyes, lest they be full of pity for him. They weren't, of course. They looks the same as always, some mystical colour between green and grey, entrancing. Kindaichi had researched shades of green once and had matched Iwaizumi’s eyes to one called “Artichoke green.” Needless to say, he wasn’t very thrilled with the name. Still, he adored those artichoke green eyes. 

"Sure. Sounds good. When?"

Kindaichi balked. In all honesty, he never expected to get this far, and therefore never planned this far ahead. He said the first thing that popped into his head that actually made sense and wasn’t about how much of an idiot he was or how hot Iwaizumi looked. 

"Uh, Thursday. At eight, at Saeko's bar. Kunimi will be there too," Kindaichi added on, planning to drag him along whether he wanted to or not.

"Didn't you say all the guys were going?" Iwaizumi frowned.

Kindaichi's hands flew up in front of his chest as he shook his head frantically. "No, yes, I meant some of them," he blabbed, desperately trying to scramble out of the metaphorical hole he'd dug himself . "I invited all of them-well, will invite-and I'm not sure everyone will be able to go, so..."

"I think I can go," Iwaizumi thought out loud, his eyes narrowing slightly as he recalled his schedule. "I'll let you know if I can't, anyway." 

"Do you want my number?" Kindaichi licked his lips dryly. "In case you can't make it." "Alright. Good idea." Iwaizumi produced out his phone and handed it readily over to Kindaichi, who instantly went blank. Of course.  

"Okay, so, um, it's..." 

Kindaichi sweated, dampness prickling at the back of his neck. 

"Do you want mine, and you can text me later?" Hajime blessedly offered, a small smile on his face. Kindaichi relaxed with a quiet sigh of relief, his face bright red as he gave back the phone and took out his own. It only took a second for Iwaizumi to plug in his number. Giving it back, he brushed past Kindaichi with a ruffle of his hair and a, "I'll see you soon, Kindaichi." 

Kindaichi stood there for a good few moments, just feeling the fast, hard thud of his heart against his ribcage gradually soften and slow down. He did it. He actually fucking did it. He and Iwaizumi are going to be together, with some other friends, in a bar, chatting and laughing and maybe even if Kindaichi got up the courage, a kiss.

The very thought made Kindaichi’s face burst into a fresh, darker shade of red, and he covered his face with his hands, smiling uncontrollably. There was no denying it anymore, to himself or anyone else. 

He would love to reach out with his hand and softly tilt Iwaizumi’s face up towards his. He would love to see the expression in Iwaizumi’s eyes, would love to feel the curve of his lips so intimately with his own. 

“God…” Kindaichi chuckled a little, slapping the sides of his face lightly. 

Kuroo was right. He was completely and utterly whipped. 

\--------

“I’m bored…” Oikawa whined, draping himself in between Makki and Mattsun. 

“Then go jerk off in the bathrooms or something,” Mattsun replied, somehow winding his arm around Oikawa to run his hand down Makki’s arm. 

“You can entertain yourself,” Makki said lightly, eyes never straying from Mattsun’s smirking lips. 

Oikawa heaved an overly loud sigh and dragged his feet around to the opposite side of the table, dumping his entire upper half on the table. “Why did I agree to come out with you two?”

“We decided to go out. You just came along.”

"I can't believe you're treating me like a third wheel," Oikawa whinged, twisting around dramatically in his seat as if in pain. Both other company looked unimpressed.

"You are."

"If you don't want to be, just get a boyfriend or girlfriend or whatever. You could get one easily."

Oikawa stirred his milkshake sulkily. "They won't stay with me, and I don't feel like one right now."

"So why are you complaining?!"

"I don't know!"

"Oikawa, what's bothering you?"

"Tell us now or we'll pester it out of you."

"I'm supposed to be the irritating one," Oikawa pointed out equally flatly. "And..." He sighed. They would get it out of him eventually anyway, one way or another, be it fifty minutes or eighty hours. "I don't know what's up with me lately, okay? There's nothing to work with."

"I knew it," Mattsun said, "You were whining much more than usual. Your company is normally tolerable, but today I was seriously considering smacking you with that milkshake."

"Thanks for the compliment," Oikawa answered dryly.

Makki leaned forward, and if he had eyebrows they would've been knitted together in thought. "Is it the fact that every one of your friends is now in a relationship?"

"Yea....I mean....I don't care," Oikawa grouched, taking a sip to gain time. "It doesn't matter to me."

"In other words, definitely," Mattsun summarised, exchanging a warm, easy grin with Makki that made Oikawa pout. "Whatever happened to 'I don't feel like one right now?'"

"It's easy for you two, you've been best friends forever. Suga and Daichi have literally been married since high school, Asahi's got that little personification of an energy drink bouncing around him, and I'm just..." Oikawa huffed, blowing impatient bubbles.

"Just hit on by every single straight woman and gay man out there?" Mattsun suggested, raising his well-endowed eyebrows.

"Wait, that's not quite right," Makki interrupted. "I'd bet money on the fact that Oikawa's been approached by straight men and at least one gay woman."

Mattsun hummed under his breath, considering it. "How would we prove it? We'd have to ask every single one of them their sexuality."

Oikawa rolled his eyes. "They should just invent a new sexuality for the vast amounts of people attracted to me. Oikawasexual."

"Trashsexual."

"Crapsexual."

"Tasteless."

"Alright, alright, I get the idea!" Oikawa snapped, hating the smug little shitty smiles they exchanged. "Can one of you actually offer me a practical solution here?"

"Get a boyfriend," they both chanted in unison.

"Where did the girlfriend option go?!"

"Eh, you're too gay."

"Definitely more gay than straight."

"Gay-orientated bisexual."

"You're like 90% gay and 10% straight."

"Since when did you two decide my sexual preferences for me?!"

"Oh, come on. We've heard about every crush since high school. Like two were females."

"One and a half."

"A half?"

"He wasn't really sure about her, remember? He said, and I quote, 'I'm not certain if I was attracted to her or just the outfit she was wearing'"

"In that case, probably the outfit. Does that count as half a person?"

"How about a quarter?"

"That sounds about right."

"So he's only liked one and a quarter women in his lifetime."

"Correct."

"Save me," Oikawa muttered from the depths of his milkshake and despair.

"We're helping you realise your true identity here," Makki pointed out politely. "There's no need for that."

"We're trying to help," Mattsun added in. "I don't see you contradicting us, either."

"Well, you're doing a horrible job of it," Oikawa bluntly stated, whipping out his phone to fire off a quick text to Suga.

 

**poof hair:** am I more gay than straight

**disgustingly romantic:** Without a doubt, yes. Why are you even asking me this question?

**poof hair:** but I've gone out w loads of girls

**disgustingly romantic:** Yes, you did, but how many did you actually properly like?

**poof hair:** one! and that's enough!

**disgustingly romantic:** You are very gay, Oikawa. You know this.

 

Oikawa huffed and decided not to reply. That'll show him, the righteous self-assured man with a steady boyfriend. A glance upwards revealed Mattsun and Makki to be making out, which explained why they'd been quiet so long and not ragging Oikawa about being on his phone. Returning his gaze to the screen with a mutter of "gross,"  Oikawa caught sight of the next name on his contact list and figured fuck it. Why not send a text to Iwa-chan too?

 

**the perfect one:** save me from this hell

**iwa-chan** : Hell? I suppose I might have time to do that. It's a slow day today.

**the perfect one:** wait you work at a factory right? how can it be a slow day??

**iwa-chan:** Sometimes, yeah. Other times I work at a shop and a garage, so I'm at the garage right now.

**the perfect one:** as a mechanic?

**iwa-chan:** What else?

**the perfect one** : oh, tru. anyway, back to the situation. I'm here and being ignored by two fuckin losers in love it’s a crisis

**iwa-chan:** Oh yeah, I get you. It's rough. I'm third wheeling right now, actually.

**the perfect one:** aren't u at work tho

**iwa-chan:** Yeah. Which makes it even worse. I know her girlfriend from the hospital too, which makes it even more awkward.

**the perfect one:** hospital? do u work there too? wouldn't surprise me at this point

**iwa-chan:** No. Just visiting.

**the perfect one:** ahh, I see. Who?

 

It took Iwaizumi a long time to answer. So long that Oikawa feared he might've stepped over some invisible line he never knew about until now. He kept typing another message and deleting it again, over and over, unsure if he actually wanted to send something or if he was just preoccupying himself so he wouldn't have to think about how fucking long it was taking Iwa-chan to text him back. Clasping his lower lip in between his teeth, Oikawa hit send. Rip.

 

**the perfect one:** You don't have to tell me.

**iwa-chan:** It's fine. It's my mom. She's been in there quite a long time so I have to work three jobs to keep up with the hospital expenses.

 

Oikawa hesitated, digesting the information. It felt different. Heavy, almost, laying at the back his skull like a weapon. This wasn't something Iwaizumi told people easily, or freely. Did his other friends know? Oikawa searched his memory for any clue, skiing meticulously through the conversation in the kitchen. Kuroo had confronted him about overworking himself, right? And Iwaizumi had acted...defensively. Walked away, simply staying that he needed the money. Would Kuroo, as much as an ass that he was, have told Iwaizumi to lighten up if he knew that he was supporting his mother? No, Oikawa guessed. Kuroo came off as a jerk, but Oikawa thought that if he really was a complete douchebag, Iwaizumi wouldn't be friends with him, much less give him a key to his apartment. He trusts Kuroo a lot, Oikawa realised with a bit of a sting. And yet...Kuroo wouldn't have pushed him like that if he knew. Iwaizumi told Oikawa this. And not Kuroo. Or any of the others, Oikawa guessed. Perhaps Akaashi, but he thought that was about it. And he told Oikawa.

Why did he tell Oikawa?

Shit. Shit, it had been minutes since he'd sent the text. What does he say back to that? What the hell is he supposed to reply with?

 

**the perfect one:** I hope she gets better soon.

 

Oikawa almost smashed his face against the table, milkshake in the way or not. Really? Really? That was the best he could do?

 

**iwa-chan:** Being serious is not a good look on you. Or proper grammar. It doesn't suit you.

 

Oikawa almost fainted from relief.

 

**the perfect one:** excuse you everything looks good on me  I could wear a trash bag and still look bomb af

**iwa-chan:** Bomb af? Is that even a phrase?

**the perfect one:** yeah not that you'd know about it

**iwa-chan:** Hey, I'm down with the latest hip slang. #yolo

**the perfect one:** oh my god you're literally an old man

**iwa-chan:** I hope you know I was kidding.

**the perfect one:** are u sure it seemed p genuine to me

**iwa-chan:** We're texting. How can something seem genuine?

**the perfect one:** can't you tell from the tone of voice?

**iwa-chan:** As I said, we're texting.

**the perfect one:** i’m gonna change your name to "the dense one"

**iwa-chan:** I protest.

**the perfect one:** done

**the dense one:** How am I supposed to pick up on your tone over text??

**the perfect one:** ooohh look two question marks might iwa-chan be getting flustered by any chance

**the dense one:** No.

**the perfect one:** definitely flustered.

**the dense one:** I'll see you on Thursday.

**the perfect one:** i can’t believe you're not talking to me bc of that

**the dense one** : I am talking to you.

**the perfect one:** but you're trying to finish up the conversation.

**the dense one:** Not because of that. Kiyoko is looking over at me and I think I need to appear busy. How about I'll text you afterwards?

**the perfect one:** good luck!

**the dense one:** Thanks. Good luck being the third wheel.

  
  
  


"Oi, Oik, you're smiling down at your phone a bit too much."

"Yeah," Makki drawled. "Who is it?"

"It's just Iwa-chan."

"Oh, that guy Suga told us about?"

"I knew if I told him everyone would know the story automatically," Oikawa said, slightly smugly.

Oikawa was instantly barraged by an interrogation, Matsuhana style.

"So what's he like?"

"Funny, from the looks of it."

"What else?"

"Is he hot?"

"Is he taken?"

"Did you suck his dick?"

"Did you fu-"

"Okay, okay, whoa. I didn't suck his dick, I definitely didn't fuck him, I don't know if he's taken or not and he's sorta hot. Happy?" Oikawa gasped for breath, gulping down more of his shake.

Mattsun gave Oikawa a skeptical look. "Sorta hot?"

"What hotness level?"

Oikawa sipped thoughtfully for a moment. "He reminds me of Sawamura a little, but I don't know if that's his appearance or personality. His body is definitely hot, it's all sculpted and muscled, but not overly so. And his face.." Oikawa scrunched up his nose, recalling his absolutely-not-creepy staring episode. Remembering the gentle curve of his lips and angular jawline. Heat flooded up his neck and tinged his cheeks before he could react, and there was utterly no hope in hell that the other two missed it.

"He's blushing. This Iwa-chan dude is hot for sure."

"Have you ever seen Oikawa blush at anything less? It's confirmed."

"I am not blushing because of him," Oikawa denied, flapping open his shirt collar. "It's gotten hotter in here suddenly, don't you think?"

"Nope, that's just your testosterone," Makki said with a grin.

"So, is this Iwa-chan well-endowed down there?" Mattsun asked straight out.

Oikawa spluttered and began coughing, feeling the gross, uncomfortable feeling of milk leaking down the inside of his nostrils.

"That's a yes, correct?"

"No, it is not a yes!" Oikawa spat out, grabbing a tissue to dry his nose. "How would I know that?"

"Your intuition."

"And a little bit of privacy invasion."

"I still don't know," Oikawa maintained.

They both stared at him. Silence reigned over the table until Oikawa finally cracked.

"Okay, okay! If I had to guess, I'd say that he is, alright?"

"It's not like you not to check for certain," Mattsun said.

"I was there barely two days. I may be famed for my quick intrusion methods, but they aren't that fast."

"Is he an asshole? You tend to lean towards that type, and that's never worked out well."

"I don't! And no, he's not."

 

**the dense one:** Back. I think Kiyoko’s stopped checking up on me. How’s the third wheeling going?

 

An idea glinted to life in Oikawa's mind. "Mattsun?"

"I don't like the tone of your voice, but yeah?"

"Do you still need your car repaired?"

"Uh, yeah. Did you see me drive here?"

"He rode me instead," Makki added in, not very helpfully.

Oikawa rolled his eyes and typed out the next text.

 

**the perfect one:** I'm gonna unslow your day. where do u work?

**the dense one:** ....Unslow isn't a word, I'm pretty sure. I work at Kiyoko's Garage. Know it?

 

"Mattsun," Oikawa announced. "Your car is going for a trip."

\----------

Within a half an hour, Oikawa flaunted into the garage, a place handy to pull in from a main route yet nestled in a large area with trees ringing around the back of it. 

“If driving here fucked my engine up more I’m sending you the bill,” Mattsun said, following Oikawa into the spacious, yet cluttered, area. 

There was a worn-out, low couch to the side and near the front, various oil stains splattered across the sides. Directly opposite, a desk was placed, oddly neat and classy in all the chaos of tools racked up on the shelves. Iwa-chan was also behind it, dressed simply in overalls, and that’s when Oikawa stopped looking at his surroundings.

“Iwa-chan!” he called, waving his hand. “I’m here!”

“I can see that,” Iwaizumi replied, resting his elbows on the desk. “Hello to you too, although I didn’t think you’d actually come. Are they the couple you were talking about?”

“I’m just such a reliable friend, I didn’t want you to suffer alone,” Oikawa shot back, halting just short of the desk front. “And yes, those are the sickening meme lords.”

"This reminds me of the bit in fifty shades of grey where he stalks her to her work."

"What, the entire movie?" Makki cut in, walking up to them casually. 

"You're going to need to be more specific." Mattsun added. 

"Do you really think I'd show up without a carefully thought out excuse?" Oikawa pouted. 

"I didn't think that mattered. But thanks for giving me something to do."

"There's no need to thank me, thank Mattsun's horrible driving skills!"

"Actually, Makki was the one driving. The reason I haven't gotten it fixed yet is because he's going to pay for it. And he hasn't given me the money yet."

"I'll give you a discount," Iwaizumi said at the same time Makki announced, louder than necessarily, "I said I'd pay you back in blowjobs."

"We didn't need to know that," Oikawa said, rolling his eyes as Iwaizumi snorted, amused.

"Well, that hasn't been happening," Mattsun pointed out. "So pay up."

"I just haven't been in the frame of mind lately," Makki defended himself. "To suck dick, you need to be in a specific mindset."

"That's fine," Mattsun said placidly. "Just give me the money then."

Makki groaned. "But I haven't got any."

"You have a job."

"You have a better job than me."

"You've literally been living in my house."

"Paying no rent."

"Paying rent in the form of sexual favours."

"Makki's quite the cheapskate," Oikawa explained to Iwaizumi, who was watching with a sort of horrified amusement.

"I can see that," he responded. "Should I just leave them to it and check the car?"

"Go for it." 

Iwaizumi sort of slipped out from behind the desk and Oikawa joined him on the short walk outside. 

“What’s up with it?” Hajime asked as they reached the car, small and shitty, and bought because of a drunken bet. 

“I think it’s to do with starting the engine. It took him six tries when we were getting here, but if you ask me, it’s a miracle that it works at all. Look at it. It’s pathetic.”

“I see your judgemental nature doesn’t stop at people,” Iwaizumi commented, craning his neck to glance back at Makki and Mattsun. “It’s probably an ignition problem with the spark plugs then or the electrics, but I need the keys to get it into the garage. I may need to keep it for a while.” 

“It wouldn’t be safe for you to approach them right now,” Oikawa hissed out. “After a little tiff like that, one of them usually grabs the other and make out on the nearest horizontal surface. I’d be concerned for that desk if I was you.”

Iwaizumi nodded slowly, bemused. “Can’t I just go up to them, ask the tall one for the keys and apologise for not taking them before we came out here?”

“Iwa-chan, were you listening to anything I just said? It’d be scarring,” Oikawa insisted, then flung his shoulders back proudly. “In this case, I will accept the mission to retrieve the keys from Mattsun’s front left pocket to save you from seeing such horrors such as Makki’s intense ass groping.”

“Sure,” Iwaizumi agreed flatly. “But if you take too long, I’m reporting into mission control that you’re dead.”

There was a second of surprised hesitation on Oikawa’s part, gazing at Iwaizumi for perhaps a heartbeat too long. He had never expected him to go along with his little dramatisation. Never. 

“What?”

“Just reflecting on how mean you are.” Oikawa automatically covered his joy up with a hurt expression, hand pressed to his chest. 

“Go get the keys, dumbass. We’re wasting time.”

“Every second spent without me is a second wasted,” Oikawa called out as he headed back, to which Iwaizumi silently shook his head. 

Oikawa lowered himself down, creeping quietly around to their side. He judged that they were almost done with their mini-argument, judging by the way Mattsun’s hands were slowly flexing open and closed, and the way Makki’s gaze was slowly dropping to Mattsun’s lips. Gradually inching nearer to each other, their voices were lowering, growing softer as they quietly, gently reached a compromise.

“Half the cost?”

“Half the cost and more rimming.”

“Done.”

Oikawa winced, wishing he didn’t know as much about his friends’ sex life as he did. It was impossible not to, with how goddamn open they were. Luckily, they seemed to be ignoring him so far, and he was just about to reach into Mattsun’s pocket when he grabbed the front of Makki’s shirt and crushed their lips together. 

“Oh my god,” Oikawa whispered dismally as he stared at two pelvises crammed together tightly, and Mattsun’s front pocket completely unreachable. 

A quick glance up told him that the two shitlords were not going to budge an inch, no matter what Oikawa could do or say. Taking a deep breath, Oikawa steeled himself and laid his palm flat before wriggling it in between their hips with a flinch. He could feel Makki’s sharp hip grinding slightly against his hand, and he shuddered, groping his way to the edge of Mattsun’s jeans pocket. 

A click to the side, beside where the sofa was, made Oikawa’s head jolt towards an opening door, a stunning, tall black-haired lady walking through. Oikawa froze as she stared blankly at the trio for a moment, apparently in an attempt to evaluate the situation. From behind her, a smaller blonde peeked out and her expression changed to complete bemusement. Why was there two men kissing in her garage with another man crouching down with his hand stuck in between them? 

“Oikawa, the keys were in the -”

Iwaizumi stopped as soon as he saw his boss, keys jingling softly in his hand. 

“I’m sure you can handle this, Iwaizumi-san,” Kiyoko said calmly and turned around to vanish back into her office. The other woman followed her with a quick, friendly but slightly confused wave to Hajime, who nodded back. Oikawa withdrew his hand pretty damn rapidly, pulling a face.

“Oikawa, you pervert,” Mattsun teased, his arms looped  around Makki’s waist.

“Oh, so now you decide to break away?” Oikawa snapped back, but his face was aflame. 

“I’m going to drive your car into the garage, is that okay with you?” Iwaizumi asked, opting to ignore the situation entirely. 

“‘Course.” 

“Okay.” 

Oikawa straightened up as Iwaizumi walked away, feeling Makki and Mattsun’s identical shit-eating grins on him. Dusting himself clean of invisible dirt, Oikawa scowled. 

“I can’t believe you made me do that.”

“We didn’t make you do anything,” Makki pointed out. “I would appreciate it if you stopped trying to get in on the action.”

“I was trying to get his keys!” Oikawa protested. “I know that when you two get going there’s nothing that can stop you, so I had to do something!”

“Couldn’t you have waited?”

“Heh, that might’ve taken a while though.”

They shared another loving grin, and once again Oikawa felt utterly disgusted. Rolling his eyes, he shoved them out of the way as Mattsun’s car slowly rolled into the garage, stopped and Iwaizumi got out. 

“Mattsun, right? If you want, you can leave now, and I’ll see what I can do with it. Just have to ask you some questions and get you to fill in some stuff first.”

“It’s Matsukawa,” Issei corrected, holding out his hand. 

“And I’m Takahiro Hanamaki,” Makki added, mimicking Matsukawa’s movement. “Nice to officially meet you.” 

“Iwaizumi Hajime.” Iwaizumi frowned as he shook their hands. “What do you mean, officially?”

“Nothing,” Oikawa interrupted as the duo’s grins widened dangerously, and he began shoving Mattsun towards the desk. “Just give Iwa-chan your details and we’ll be out of here.”

“Why so soon? You were the one eager to get here in the first place.”

“Yes, but now Iwa-chan’s life has been brightened up with my presence, I need to go and give the gift of my beauty to...someone else,” Oikawa announced as the four of them gathered around the desk. 

“Now who could this ‘someone else’ possibly be?” Makki inquired innocently, raising up the space where his tiny eyebrows resided quizzically. 

“Anyone. Everyone.”

“Wow, such detail. I’m overwhelmed with information.”

“Fill this out, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible,” Iwaizumi instructed, handing Mattsun a sheet and a pen. 

“Thanks.”

A sort of silence soaked into the skin of all present as the scratching of Mattsun’s pen across paper filled up the air. Makki shifted to hug him from behind, resting his cheek on his shoulder blade and looking so comfortable and contented that it made Oikawa feel a spike of envy. Leaning forward, Oikawa drummed his slender fingers against the desktop table, and Iwaizumi’s gaze skipped over them, the fluid, elegant movement. 

“You’re definitely a setter,” slipped out past his lips. 

Oikawa glanced up inquiringly, brown eyes angling to the side slightly as he weighed up Hajime’s words. 

“Thanks, but what make you say that?”

“Your hands,” Iwaizumi answered honestly, then swallowed, a tad awkwardly. “They’re...pretty. Setters usually have nice hands.”

Oikawa’s eyes widened for a moment before Makki’s quiet cry of, “gay,” wriggled its way into their ears. Both of them ignored it, although Hajime’s gaze did dart downwards and Oikawa flushed just a little darker. 

“Well,” Oikawa started off brightly, lower lip being chewed just for a second. “Speaking of volleyball, you can make it tomorrow, right?”

Iwaizumi nodded, his eyes drifting back to meet Oikawa’s. “Yeah. I’m taking the morning shift, so after that I have the whole day free.”

“You should do something more then,” Oikawa commented, twirling his finger around on a circle on the polished wood. “Go out or something.”

“I am. Why did you assume I wouldn’t be doing anything?”

“Because you look like the type who has no social life.”

“You know that’s not true. You’ve met most of my friends.”

“You have more friends than those weirdos?!”

Hajime gently swatted at Oikawa’s head, who ducked with a smile.

“Don’t insult my friends. But, just to prove you wrong, I’m going out with Kindaichi and a few others from practice.”

“Kindaichi?” Oikawa’s nose creased up. “Kindaichi Yūtarō? Tall guy, sometimes awkward, looks like a turnip?”

“Yeah. You know him?” 

“He went to my high school,” Oikawa answered, eyes brightening up with the memories. “Aoba Johsai. I think he had a crush on me.”

“Wasn’t you,” Mattsun cut in smoothly. “You aren’t his type at all.”

“You can’t know that,” Oikawa huffed, then a devilish expression spread over his face. “Maybe I should show up. See how’s he’s getting on.”

“You just want to ruin Iwaizumi’s evening, don’t you?” Makki drawled out. 

“Rude! I think you mean make it ten times as better! Look at how much less bored he is now that I’m here!”

Iwaizumi snorted at that, and Oikawa folded his arms with a pout. 

“Just admit it. I made your day better.”

“Wasn’t exactly hard, with how my day was going.”

“So that’s a yes!”

Hajime rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tinging the edges of his mouth. “I suppose so.” 

“Alright, done,” Mattsun announced, pushing the sheet with the pen laying on it back at Iwaizumi, who briefly checked over it and nodded. 

“Great. Hopefully it won’t take too long.” 

“Hopefully, because I’m sick of taking the bus everywhere,” Mattsun grumbled. 

“Me too,” Makki chimed in. 

“So I’ll give you a call when it’s ready,” Iwaizumi said, opening a drawer and sticking the sheet into a folder. 

“Sounds good. We’d better leave you to it then,” Mattsun replied, detaching Makki’s arms from around his waist. 

“Mm,” Makki confirmed with a nod. 

“I guess,” Oikawa also conceded, giving Iwaizumi a short wave as they walked away. 

Iwaizumi waved back, but not for long before he was rounding the car, selecting a jack and other equipment required from the shelves. 

“He is hot,” Makki stated simply, aiming a suggestive smile Oikawa’s way. 

“I don’t think of him like that, okay?” Oikawa protested weakly. 

“He complimented your hands,” Mattsun pointed out as he looped his own fingers through Hanamaki’s.  

“Lots of people compliment my hands,” Oikawa retorted. “Doesn’t make him special.”

Matsukawa only hummed back in response, distractedly brushing his shoulder off of Makki’s as they walked onwards. 

Before they’d gone too far, Oikawa’s phone vibrated. 

 

**the dense one:** It’s in Saeko’s at eight tomorrow. Don’t tell Kindaichi I told you. 

  
Oikawa grinned. This was going to be fun. At the very least, if he had anything to do with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe this got over 100 kudos literally thank you all so much  
> i love kindaichi sm but honestly the child is too pure for his own good


	6. Rip Iwaizumi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> iwa goes to oikawa's training, the required-in-every-iwaoi-fic alien and beetle references appear, kindaichi tries to flirt, and iwa returns home to a pleasant surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STRESS WRITING MY WAY TO THE GAY PARTS  
> shoutout to sapphyrelily for beta reading this and correcting my stupid mistakes  
> it passed 14k holy crap

**Iwaizumi** : I’ll be able to make it tonight. Looking forward to it.

 

Having sent the text to Kindaichi, Hajime took one look at the clock and groaned. Five hours stuck in a massive, freezing factory was not what he’d choose to do between the hours of twelve and five in the morning, but luckily it allowed him to grab some sleep before he headed to Oikawa’s practice. And shortly after that, he was going out with Kindaichi and the guys. He honestly didn’t know if he could juggle three jobs with such a wild social life. Well, wild for him. He never really wasted his time with people he knew he’d never get along with, and had kept his group of friends small and tight.

Stretching out on the couch, Iwaizumi thought back to after practice, when Kindaichi had asked him to join them for a night out. Something about the request rang strange with him, but he couldn’t place what. Kuroo had told him that Kindaichi liked him, but Iwaizumi had initially dismissed that possibility almost instantly. He didn’t see it. And if there was something romantic between them, sad to say, it was definitely one-sided. Iwaizumi was very fond of Kindaichi, sure, he certainly enjoyed his company and teaching him what he knew, but that was all. Hajime thought that if Kindaichi ever did like him in that way - if, that is - it would be an infatuation rather than anything else. He’d get over it in time. As if on cue, Iwaizumi’s phone chimed.

 

**Kindaichi:** That’s great to hear! I’ll see you at eight then.

 

Rolling over onto his front, Iwaizumi typed out a reply quickly.

 

**Iwaizumi:** See you then.

 

Was there anything more to say than that? He didn’t think so….apart from the fact that he invited Oikawa. To Kindaichi’s gathering. Would he mind? He really should’ve asked him before texting Oikawa the details. So should he inform Kindaichi?

Then Iwaizumi imagined telling Oikawa that he couldn’t go anymore.

Nope.

A coincidence that Oikawa turned up in the same bar as them in the same night. Kindaichi should be glad to see Oikawa again, right? And if Oikawa was being a pain he could always make him leave somehow. It wasn’t a big deal. Iwaizumi gave a firm nod, satisfied with his decision. He’ll let Oikawa know his plans, too. He could reply when he woke up, hopefully the text wouldn’t wake him.

 

**iwa-chan:** Can you show up a little later than eight? I don’t want it to seem too planned.

 

Oikawa halted, breath tearing up the inside of his throat, and fished his phone out of his pocket. Who was that, at this hour? He really shouldn’t be running now, especially as he had practice later, but he couldn’t sleep. He kept tossing restlessly in bed, unwanted memories floating to the surface of his mind. His knee would be fine. Oh. Oikawa blinked. Iwa-chan. (He’d changed his contact name back to Iwa-chan. It felt right, better than the dense one.)

 

**the perfect one:** kindaichi will be thrilled to see me im sure of it but k i’ll wait a bit

 

**iwa-chan:** What are you doing up so early?

 

**the perfect one:** i could ask you the same question

 

**iwa-chan:** I had work.

 

**the perfect one:** ok but when do you not have work

 

**iwa-chan:** I don’t have work for the rest of today, except maybe an hour or two in the shop before going out. Again, why are you awake?

 

**the perfect one:** couldn’t sleep so i went for a run 

gotta keep my perfect bod in shape

 

**iwa-chan:** This early in the morning? Isn’t that a little dangerous? 

 

**the perfect one:** no i live in a nice neighbourhood unlike u

and didn’t u walk back from work

 

**iwa-chan:** I did, but as long as you keep your head down, you’ll be fine. 

 

**the perfect one:** yeah haha keeping my head down was never my strong point

 

**iwa-chan:** I can tell that. I need to crash now though, I’m exhausted. I’ll see you tonight then?

 

**the perfect one:** wtf not tonight

 

**iwa-chan:** Aren’t you coming? 

 

**the perfect one:** aren’t you coming to my practice today

 

**iwa-chan:** Yeah, I am, so I’ll see you in a couple of hours. Even more reason for me to get some sleep now. And you should, too.

 

Reading the words sent a little tingle up Oikawa’s spine. Someone cared enough about him to tell him to go to sleep. Most of his friends had given up at this point, apart from Suga, maybe. He was stubborn when he needed to be. Makki and Mattsun, on the other hand, actively encouraged stupid ideas and ridiculously late nights. Taking a moment to glance up from his phone, Oikawa glanced around at the silent streets and got hit by a sudden pang of loneliness. There was nobody here, and the litter nestling in the corners of doorways offered no company, nor did the whispering cracks in the pavement beneath his feet. Oikawa hated it. Why did he always surround himself with people when he went for early morning runs to get away from them? A feeling started crawling on top of Oikawa’s chest, pressing down on his breathing, and he stared down at his phone to ground himself again. 

Focus on something else. 

 

 **the perfect one:** i’ll go to sleep once i get back. if i can.

 

**iwa-chan:** Take some warm whiskey, or milk. I find that helps. 

 

**the perfect one:** i doubt it will but i’ll try it thanks

 

**iwa-chan:** Goodnight then, or good morning, rather. Safe trip home, Oikawa.

  
  


Oikawa gazed at his screen for a moment before sighing, closing his eyes briefly. It was time to go home, back to his hollow apartment. 

 

**the perfect one:** good morning then

 

Iwaizumi frowned down at his phone as he wandered into his bedroom. Oikawa seemed off, not as cheery as usual, even if it was faked. Wondering whether to ask if something was wrong or not, Iwaizumi changed into his sleep clothes, just a simple old t-shirt and boxers. Perhaps it was just the hour of morning, just simple tiredness. After all, Hajime had been told many times that he was grumpy when sleepy, so maybe the same thing went for Oikawa. And plus, he was about to drop. He didn’t have time to get into a deep conversation with Oikawa right now. He was likely running home now, anyway. 

Yawning, Iwaizumi practically dumped himself in between his sheets. If he couldn’t get rid of the niggling feeling underneath his skin that it wasn’t just tiredness by tomorrow - okay, when he woke up - he’d ask Oikawa about it. Iwaizumi’s eyelids dropped heavily over his eyes, and he relaxed into the mattress, stretching out on his front like he always did. Yet his mind still spiralled around, picking up details, analysing, realising things he didn’t want to admit consciously. 

Ah, that was why he didn’t tell Kindaichi. He wanted Oikawa to come too, and if Kindaichi said no, he would have to respect his wishes. If Oikawa turned up and just happened to bump into them, everything was cool. 

Yeah. It’d turn out just fine.

\--------

"Iwa-chan!" Oikawa bounded eagerly up to the doorway, a volleyball clasped tightly between his hands. "You came!"

His hair bounced in place as he stopped right in front of Iwaizumi, beaming brightly at him. 

"Course I did," Iwaizumi replied gruffly, peering around the gym doorway cautiously. "I said I would, didn't I?"

Oikawa tilted his head to the side, a smirk fluttering onto his lips. "Don't be so nervous. You've already met Mattsun and Makki."

"I'm not nervous," Hajime answered, but his sweaty hands were clenching around the fabric of his plain training shorts, quietly betraying his anxiety.

"Then come in." Oikawa stood aside, clearing the door. Iwaizumi could catch glimpses of men, all in pale yellow t-shirts and white shorts, dotted throughout the gym. A jolt went through Hajime. Usually he okay with meeting new people, just….not so many at once. Iwaizumi dawdled for a moment longer than necessary, his fingers scratching quietly against the fibres of his worn shorts. "Oikawa, are you sure they won't mind me being here?"

"Of course not! Don't be silly!" Oikawa grabbed Iwaizumi's wrist and dragged him directly into the middle of the court. "Look everyone! Here's Iwa-chan!"

Iwaizumi felt his neck flush, his heart pumping too fast as he fought not to wince back down into the depths of his t-shirt. Around a dozen players were scattered around the court, which didn't sound like a lot, but it was a lot when everyone was staring at you. He recognised Makki and Mattsun, and offered them a hesitant wave, to which he got a peace sign and a two-fingered salute. After that, a chorus of greetings rose into the air and mingled together for an instant before dying off, and everyone returned to whatever they were doing beforehand. That settled his nerves somewhat, until Oikawa began dragging him over to a duo he didn't recognise at all. One had...Iwaizumi frowned, wondering if he had somehow become colour blind in the last two seconds, but their hair was silvery-grey, a mole placed just underneath his left eye. Was it dyed? The other-well, once Iwaizumi noticed his sculpted form, he was too busy comparing the size of their triceps to take in much more of his appearance in the few seconds it took to reach them.

"Sawamura, Suga-kun! Here's Iwa-chan!"

Iwaizumi took a moment to conclude that their arms were on the same level, but this guy's thighs were something else altogether. Then it clicked with him. Suga. Sugawara. 

"Hello," he said, a tad stiffly. "I'm Iwaizumi. I spoke with you on the phone, right?"

Suga beamed a friendly smile back at him, one that reminded Hajime of the times in high school, walking through his front door to the smell of blissful food and his mother's homely smile.

"That's right. Nice to finally meet you in person, Iwaizumi."

"You too."

"This is Dachi!" Oikawa declared with a little flourish of his hand. “Sawamura Daichi, the love of Suga’s life. It’s gross.”

Iwaizumi actually stopped this time to take in Daichi's face, which was the perfect image of politeness. Yet he seemed to have his own grounding pull, and Iwaizumi suddenly recalled him in that one match his team played against Karasuno. He was the captain and excellent receiver, right?

"Nice to meet you," Daichi said amiably. “Iwaizumi Hajime, right? Oikawa hasn’t shut up about you.”

“I don’t talk about him!”

Iwaizumi chose to bypass Oikawa’s outburst and addressed Daichi instead. Oikawa talked about him, huh? That was nice to hear, he had to admit. 

"Yeah. Nice to meet you too. You were Karasuno's captain the year they went to nationals, right?"

A smile of utter pride appeared on Daichi's lips as he slung an arm around Suga and held him close. "Yes. Suga and I were third years when Karasuno won regionals for the first time."

"Ah, you too, Sugawara?"

Koushi nodded happily, if a tad somberly. "Kageyama was already the team's main setter at that point, but I did get my moments in," he added, brightening up his solemn words with a soft smile.

"Kageyama? The kid already on the national team?"

Oikawa's posture shifted next to Iwaizumi, and he turned slightly with a small frown, noticing Oikawa's tightly wrapped fists, his abruptly strained smile. 

"Yeah! Unfortunately, I can't take all the credit for his mentoring."

"He was Oikawa's junior too, in middle school," Daichi chipped in to explain. "He taught him that killer jump serve, amongst other things."

Completely focusing on Oikawa, Iwaizumi didn't miss his heightened shoulders, or the fact that once again his smile fell short of any resemblance of warmth. And from the worry that fell over Sugawara's expression, he didn't miss the changes in Oikawa either.

"Psh, he would've improved that quickly no matter what I did." Oikawa disregarded Daichi's praise with an airy wave of his hand. Then a wider, devilish grin replaced the usual carefree one, his eyes narrowing. "I should've crushed him when I had the chance."

"By him, do you mean Karasuno?" Daichi asked defensively.

"You did have a chance. You blew it," Suga swooped in pointedly.

"Why'd you have to support him so much?" Oikawa complained, smacking one hand against the side of his thigh in frustration. "He would've crumbled easily otherwise."

"That's Karasuno for you," Daichi stated, pride lacing his voice. "We stuck together."

"Didn't you throw Kageyama and Hinata out of the gym the first day?"

"Suga! You know that was to teach them how to work together."

“By chucking them out of the club entirely.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

Oikawa rolled his eyes heavily as Iwaizumi hid his snicker behind a polite cough.

"Anyway, we need to finish up practice now," Daichi said, changing the subject quickly. " Oikawa told me that you're injured, but you're welcome to join in if you feel you're able to. "

Iwaizumi nodded. "Thanks. I should be good if I don't push myself too hard."

"Why do you let him join in when he wants to and you won't let me?" Oikawa whined, tugging annoyingly on Iwaizumi's sleeve as if to prove a point.

"You'd say you're able to go until your leg physically splits in half," Suga pointed out, prodding Oikawa's chest. "You need to take it easy, or you mightn't ever recover."

"Since you already ruined your chances of ever fully recovering, we need to regulate your exercise now. You'll drive yourself too hard."

Huh? Oikawa was injured? Seriously, and for a long time from the sounds of it, Iwaizumi speculated.

"You never mentioned you were injured," Iwaizumi said.

In response, Oikawa rolled his eyes and gestured down at his right knee. "I didn't think I needed to, genius. It's pretty obvious. Also, I did said I wouldn't be playing much, remember?"

Oh. One of Oikawa's knee protectors was a worn-out white, larger than the other.  A knee supporter. So that’s why he dropped out of nationals, Iwaizumi realised.

"You did, but I thought..." Iwaizumi shook his head. "Sorry. I don't know what I thought."  

“It’s okay,” Oikawa said brightly, throwing up a peace sign. “As you can see, dear Suga-kun is making sure I don’t overwork myself, so I just have to time it so I practice when he’s making out with Sawamura in the locker rooms.”

“I’ll tell Matsukawa to make sure you don’t jump serve,” Suga promptly cut in the moment Daichi’s face started turning into a tomato. 

Oikawa laughed. “You’ve tried that before, remember?”

At Iwaizumi’s curious expression, Daichi sighed out, “He bribed Hanamaki to distract him, and sadly, he was successful.”

“Come on, we’re wasting time!” Oikawa chirped, grabbing Iwaizumi by the wrist again and hauling him over to toss the volleyball in his hand away. “Sawamura, can we play a match? Please? Pretty please? Suga-kun will give you an extra handjob if we play a match, I’m sure!”

“Oikawa, I told you, not during practice! You’re going to break him,” Koushi yelled over at him as Daichi fought not to cover his burning face with his hands. 

“Don’t worry, Suga,” he managed to get out. “I won’t be broken so easily.”

“See? He said it’s fine!” 

“Oikawa, that was not him saying it was fine!”

“Alright, everyone!” Daichi slammed his hands together, a sound that echoed throughout the gym, causing everyone to look at him. “We’re going to finish up with some matches. First team, Suga, Koganegawa, Nishinoya , Matsukawa, Hanamaki,  Moniwa, and I. Second team, Asahi, Oikawa, Tsukishima, Iwaizumi, Futakuchi, Yamamoto, and Watari! Make sure you all communicate - I’m looking at you, Tsukishima - and let’s have a good game!”

Iwaizumi’s attention was drawn to a lanky, blonde man in glasses standing at the edge of the court with an utterly disinterested look on his face. He assumed that was who Daichi was referring to when he told everyone to communicate. 

“Who is everyone?” Hajime asked Oikawa, halting to pull Oikawa back to face him. 

“Well-” Oikawa pulled a face, “-the short version is that the little one with the weird hairstyle is Nishinoya-” he pointed across the court, to a very short man with a ginormous grin, currently bouncing on the balls of his feet, “Moniwa is the cute one, Koganegawa is the one with the…..things sticking out the top of his head, you know those two shitlords already, and I’ve just introduced you to the power couple of the gym.”

“Okay…” Iwaizumi said slowly, nodding as he took in the information and filed it away. “What about the ones on our team?”

“Ergh, why do you care?” Oikawa groaned. “Fine. Watari’s from Aoba Johsai too, he’s the nice one with the buzzcut. Manbun, Asahi. Loud one, Yamamoto. Asshole, Tsukishima. Arrogant jerk, Futakuchi.” 

“Am I supposed to know the difference between ‘asshole’ and ‘arrogant jerk’?” Iwaizumi questioned as the players positioned themselves on the court. 

He chose the back left corner, and Oikawa settled himself next to him, with whom he assumed was Futakuchi serving first. In front, Asahi, Tsukishima and Yamamoto arranged themselves, with Watari standing by to swap in. 

“They’re very different things,” Oikawa assured him, flashing him an “okay,” sign. “Try to learn my signals, okay?” 

He demonstrated a few quickly, and Iwaizumi tried his best to memorise them in the few seconds they had before the match started. 

“Nice serve!” Watari called from the sidelines as Futakuchi slammed the ball against his palm, heading directly to Daichi, who received it effortlessly. Iwaizumi, tensing up, recalled that both Sugawara and Koganegawa were setters, and...he had no idea about Hanamaki and Matsukawa. Middle blockers? Hajime couldn’t speculate properly, but it looked like the ball was spinning straight to Sugawara, who leaped up, hair suspended out from his head like a halo for a split second. Hajime started moving as soon as he saw who the toss was heading to-Koganegawa. There was no way a toss would go up that high to anyone else on their team. Apparently the blonde guy in front-Tsukishima, right?- also thought the same thing, for he began running to the left also, gaze locked onto the spiker. Koganegawa wasn’t exactly being discreet about it, and as soon as he sprung up both Iwaizumi and Tsukishima were in position. Although Tsukishima was tall, it turned out that Koganegawa was a giant. Despite the obvious pressure from the outstretched, leering arms, he smacked it at a point just above Tsukishima’s fingertips, yet the ball deflected, going long over the length of the court. 

“One touch!” 

I have time, Iwaizumi thought as he sprinted after the ball, arching high into the air. His head was angled upwards, taking in every rotation of the sphere to judge where it would drop. There. Right ahead of him. With a grunt, Iwaizumi threw himself into a diving receive, letting out a triumphant yell as he felt smooth cloth connect with his fist. Sliding along the floor, he twisted onto his side, watching proudly as the ball flew back, not quite to the setter but it was up, it was up, and that was the important part. 

Oikawa’s voice resounded throughout the gym, more commanding than Iwaizumi had ever heard it, as he drove himself forward gracefully to reach the ball. 

“Asahi!”

The toss went up, a quick shot out of Oikawa’s elegant hands, and the following sound of the ball hitting the floor made Iwaizumi’s eyes grow wide. 

“Nice one, Asahi-san!!!”

“Nishinoya, you’re on the other team,” Asahi protested, but his shy grin gave away how pleased he was. “Root for them instead.”

“I can root for both!” Nishinoya defended himself as he scurried enthusiastically onto the court, Moniwa switching out to take care of the score. 

Iwaizumi picked himself up off of the floor as Oikawa jogged over, helping him up with a begrudgingly impressed smile. “Are you sure you aren’t a libero? That was almost a perfect receive.”

“Nope,” Iwaizumi answered surely. “Spiker, through and through.” 

“We’ll see,” Oikawa replied with raised eyebrows as they took their positions again. 

“Don’t doubt me,” Iwaizumi shot back, then realised everyone was looking at him. “What?”

“Impressive receive,” Watari said as he handed him the ball, and Iwaizumi frowned in confusion. Why did he getting the ball?

“Thanks, but isn’t it Oikawa’s turn to serve?”

“I’m not allowed to serve, even just a normal one,” Oikawa explained. Well, more like complained with that whiney tone of voice. 

“Oh. Okay.”

“It’s completely unfair. How could I damage myself further by standing there and hitting the ball standing still?”

“It’s because we don’t trust you to not do a jump serve,” Watari said, patting him on the back.

“I’m trustworthy!”

Iwaizumi flung the ball straight up and jumped, focusing on the spot right between Nishinoya and Daichi. His torso stung as he smashed his palm hard against the rough exterior, his throat releasing a grunt of exertion. But really, with both Daichi and Nishinoya on the back line, he didn’t really have much of a chance. Nishinoya seemingly got it effortlessly, sending it to Koganegawa instead. Suga spiked, but the toss was a little too high, and Asahi received this time. Oikawa turned slightly to him, his focused gaze and crafted hands flashing the plan of attack. 

Iwaizumi’s blood spiked with excitement as he ran up on Oikawa’s right, eyes trained only on the falling ball. Then it had passed through Oikawa’s palms, and Iwaizumi was tensing his legs, springing up just in time to blast the ball straight past Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s arms, narrowly landing inside the black line. 

“Yes!” Iwaizumi yelled out, fist pumping the air as he spun around to face Oikawa. His stomach sent a jolt of pain through him, but he ignored it in favour of high-fiving a glowing Oikawa. “Nice one, Iwa-chan!” 

“It was only one point. Why are they celebrating so much?” Tsukishima muttered across the net to Hanamaki, who shrugged uncaringly. 

“I can’t believe you actually sent me a quick,” Iwaizumi shook his head. “That was stupid.”

“You spiked it, didn’t you?” Oikawa pointed out, so smugly that it irritated Iwaizumi. “I had a gut instinct and I went with it.”

“Your toss was too low,” Iwaizumi said flatly. 

“Hey, Oikawa! Quit chatting with the new punk and send me a toss too! I exist!” Yamamoto called over to him, to which Oikawa huffed and flicked a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. 

Punk? Iwaizumi blinked. He didn’t look like a punk...did he?

“Okay, okay. The match has only started, don’t be so impatient!” 

Yamamoto did indeed get a toss, and another, and another. He seemed to be keen on trying to gain the level of power Asahi had, with every hit muttering, “not enough,” under his breath. Iwaizumi went into a trance of sorts. He rarely even glanced at the scoreboard, instead concentrating utterly on the match, and by the end he was being praised by the team like one of the regulars. He wasn’t that flashy, but he was a solid receiver and spiker, dependable in any circumstances. It was difficult to psych him out, no matter how many comments Mattsun and Makki threw his way. Being on the same team as Kuroo for three years kind of made him impossible to provoke. 

In the end, Oikawa’s team lost, due to the sheer defensive level of Nishinoya and Daichi playing on the same team, not to mention Matsukawa’s blocking and Hanamaki steadily racking up points with those annoying feints. However, Iwaizumi looked at the score and was satisfied. It had been close. Hearing footsteps, he turned around to see Oikawa approaching him with an oddly serious expression.

“Hey, you aren’t going to blame me for the fact that we lost, are you?” Iwaizumi asked jokingly, slightly uneasy about Oikawa’s thoughtful demeanour. 

“No, although you are right about that,” Oikawa said, making Iwaizumi scowl. “I was thinking about something else. Something stranger than me losing. The first toss I gave you-I didn’t intend it to be a quick. You were right, it would’ve been beyond stupid to give a fast toss to someone you’ve never synched up with before.”

The scowl on Hajime’s face had melded into something beyond confusion at this stage.

“So what are you saying? You accidentally gave me a quick and it somehow worked out?”

“Pretty much,” Oikawa concluded. “It’s just incredibly weird. Why did you jump so early? I think I had to toss that fast to match up with you.” 

“In that case, you’re good at matching up with people. And I just did.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes at him, sighing in exasperation. “‘I just did’, isn’t an answer, Iwa-chan.”

“It is.”

“Not a good one. Answer again.”

“I’m going to clean up,” Iwaizumi declared, turning away from Oikawa. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he glanced back, seeing Oikawa beam that false smile at him again. It irked him, more than when Oikawa smirked. Why would somebody fake a grin that damn often?

“What?”

“Walk home with me,” Oikawa said, holding steady eye contact. 

Iwaizumi stared at him for a second, blinking in surprise. He’d told himself on Tuesday to get to know Oikawa better. Did Oikawa have the same thought?

“Okay.”

\--------

“You smoke?”

Oikawa glanced at Iwaizumi out of the side of his eye, cradling a lighter in his rounded palms. It was windy on the path they’d taken, Iwaizumi’s bag rustling against his jacket with every fresh gust. For Oikawa, it was merely an annoyance. Once more, he sparked the lighter, and finally the end of the cigarette caught onto the flame. 

“Mm.” Oikawa nodded, letting his gaze slide sideways to follow the thin trail of smoke. “Not heavily, but still addicted.” 

“Weren’t you a professional athlete?” Iwaizumi frowned as they walked on, side by side on the pavement. “Isn’t that ruining  your fitness?”

“I was, and it is. Doesn’t matter,” Oikawa said simply, securing the tube between two fingers and puffing out the grey cloud of killer chemicals. “So, Iwa-chan,” he continued before he could question any deeper into his past. “What do you do for fun?”

“Fun? I thought that would be obvious. Volleyball, of course.” 

“Just that? I doubt it.” Oikawa rolled his eyes, gesturing with his cigarette towards Iwaizumi. “What else?”

“I don’t have time for anything else.”

“You lead a boring life.”

“Fine, what about you then?” Iwaizumi shot back, irritated. 

“I go out,” Oikawa shrugged. “I get drunk, get laid, then repeat. That’s fun.”

Iwaizumi tilted his head towards Oikawa, doubt flashing in his eyes.

“You don’t sound very sure.” 

“Well, it wouldn’t make much sense to do it if I didn’t find it fun, would it?”

“It would. I don’t find working at the factory fun, but I have to.”

“I’m not talking about work. I’m talking about hobbies.”

“Getting laid is not a hobby.” 

“It’s definitely a way of passing time, which is a pastime, which is a hobby.”

Iwaizumi frowned, looking at Oikawa strangely out of the corner of his eye. “That….is very flawed logic.” 

“Flawed logic is better than having only one hobby.”

“I’m not arguing with you about this any more,” Iwaizumi said firmly. “Change the subject.”

“You’re giving up already? Lightweight.” Oikawa puffed out some more smoke, this time directed at Iwaizumi’s face, trying to provoke him. What he got was a scowl and more glowering, but no speaking. Oikawa stubbornly walked on without a word, hoping Iwaizumi would fold first and continue on their conversation. After a few minutes, and Iwaizumi looking as calm and unflustered as he could be, Oikawa caved in. 

"Regarding practice today, I didn't expect you to be so good," Oikawa stated out into the silence and smoke. Reaching out, Iwaizumi flicked his index finger lightly against the top of his ear. 

"That's rude."

"I was just being honest! And it's a compliment!"

"You were exactly as good as I expected you to be," Iwaizumi said frankly. "I had pretty high expectations, since you were on the national team."

"Thanks! I'm always flawless," Oikawa replied, but his voice had lost its carefree tone.

"What was it like?"

"Being on the national team?"

"Yeah."

Oikawa stared ahead flatly for a couple of seconds, pulling smoke down deep into his lungs.

"Pressure," he eventually answered. "More than I'd ever felt before. When I joined at first, I thought I had three years before Kageyama took my place. It turned out to be less, but that didn't really surprise me." 

Oikawa shrugged, waving a hand in front of his face to dissipate the smoke. The wind was billowing it back into his face, so he settled the cigarette beside his thigh, tapping the end. Drawing a hand back through his hair, Iwaizumi didn't know what to do with the sudden, thick atmosphere. He wanted to know more, and yet...Oikawa had a sudden demeanour to him that had warning lights going off in his mind. For what, Iwaizumi didn’t know. 

"Then you injured your knee?" Iwaizumi asked.

"No." Oikawa's eyes were half-lidded, the afternoon light sending shimmery shadows flowing over his upper cheeks every time he blinked. "That happened afterwards."

The sense of warning Iwaizumi had abruptly made sense. 

"Stop being so goddamn dramatic and tell me what fucking happened already," Iwaizumi said starkly. He wasn't demanding, not exactly, but he made his real meaning clear. 

Cut the bullshit.

Oikawa's eyes widened to their normal size, pausing a moment to turn to Iwaizumi in surprise, shaken out of his recollections. Waving his cigarette around, Oikawa seemed to be doing what he rarely did-struggle for words.

"Aren't you supposed to respect my wishes if I don't want to tell you?!" Oikawa spluttered out, disbelieving of Iwaizumi's straightforwardness. People usually gently prompted him onwards, Oikawa acted like the tragic hero, he got sympathy but never really told the full story.

"That's fine," Iwaizumi responded steadily. "If you don't want to, don't. But if you are going to tell me, cut dragging it out and just tell me. Otherwise, I'm going right now. This is already the opposite direction from my house."

"I can't believe this," Oikawa huffed out. "You're ruining any dramatic suspense for my big reveal of my tragically premature fall from stardom."

"I'm honestly starting not to care any more," Iwaizumi deadpanned. "You're building it up far too much."

"Am not! It's called art, not that you'd know much about creating tension.”

"Dramatic tension and art are both overrated. I bet you were in the drama club in high school too, weren't you? Or always wished to be."

"Being judgemental is an art form too, Iwa-chan, and you're nailing it right now."

"I get the feeling you use the term 'art form' loosely."

"It's not my fault if lots of my hobbies can be classified as forms of art."

"Pretty sure getting wasted isn't art, no matter how fancily you phrase it."

"I didn't say all of my hobbies. "

Oikawa began walking again, swaying the short cigarette stub around to the edge of his mouth. Iwaizumi strode along beside him, adjusting his shoulder bag and enjoying how the wind wove through his short hair.

"Do you want to know my story or not?" Oikawa asked airily, but in fact his mind was whirring, reeling in surprise. Because he was considering it. He was seriously considering telling this blunt moron one of his biggest, most shameful moment. The only one who had the guts to ask him straight out. He's impulsive, Oikawa thought. He acts without thinking. He didn't think that I'd get offended, because he didn't give himself the time to consider that. He didn't think when he stopped those men that night. He just acted.

"Stop smiling. It's creeping me out."

Oikawa started, turning his head to glower at Iwaizumi and stuck his tongue out. "You should be thanking me. My smile is a gift. "

"Yeah, yeah, just make a decision already. I need to be home soon."

"I'm thinking," Oikawa defended himself. "We're nearly at my apartment anyway."

"So you better decide quick."

"I know, I know!"

A couple of minutes swooped past them in wordless silence. Every so often, Iwaizumi would face Oikawa with a clear question on his face, and Oikawa would shake his head slowly. He didn't think he could tell anybody about it without breaking down. Which was pathetic, but fact.

"Here," Oikawa said shortly, halting in front of a clean building, a couple of shrubs ringing the walkway up to the door.

"Alright. I'll see you tonight then." Iwaizumi spun around so quickly Oikawa let out a little squeak.

"Iwa-chan, aren't you going to ask once more, or hang around until I tell you?"

"I thought that you decided not to tell me," Iwaizumi responded. "You shook your head every time."

"That was because I hadn't reached a decision yet," Oikawa explained, threading a nervous hand back through his brown locks. "I'm not sure if I can."

"Then don't. I can wait."

So simple, Oikawa thought, with more than a small pang of envy. Was that what it was like not to overthink everything? He wished he could be like that. Simple, impulsive and straightforward.

Iwaizumi began walking away again, and this time Oikawa actually pattered up to him and grasped his shoulder.

"Wait, don't you need to get your clothes?"

Iwaizumi stared blankly at him for a moment before it clicked. "Oh, yeah. I lent you some stuff."

"So are you getting them?" Oikawa prompted. "I have drinks too, if you want."

"I'll get them now, but I really can't stay for long," Iwaizumi answered with a nod.

"Who'd want you to hang around their apartment?"

"You just invited me in for a drink."

"It's called being polite, Iwa-chan," Oikawa hummed out as they entered the building, Oikawa punching the elevator button as soon as they were within reach. It was quite fancy, the stairs actually visibly curling around the elevator shaft. An impressive piece of designing.

"What floor are you on?" Iwaizumi asked, craning his neck to see up the flights of stairs. Wow, it was tall.

"Fifth," Oikawa replied. "I have a balcony too. The views are astonishing sometimes, especially in the evenings. The sky turns red and the clouds look like streaks of blood."

"Cheery simile," Iwaizumi commented. "Sounds nice, though."

"Nice? That's all you have to say after that brilliant description?" Oikawa huffed as they stepped into the elevator.

"What's wrong with nice?" Iwaizumi questioned distractedly, marvelling at how none of the mirrors in the elevator were broken. He couldn't even remember the last time the elevator in his apartment building actually worked.

"It's a word you use when you're completely disinterested," Oikawa elaborated, hands on hips. "Like if someone's showing you an outfit and it sucks, you go, 'it's nice.' Nice has lost all meaning."

"If it sucks, you say ‘it sucks’," Iwaizumi murmured, but his head was tilted upwards, examining the elevator ceiling.

"Why are you staring at the ceiling?"

"There's no loose wires or tiles. It's amazing."

"You use nice to describe a magnificent sky, and you use amazing for an elevator ceiling?!"

"Mm. What's wrong with that?"

At this point, Oikawa draped himself dramatically over the buttons, covering his face with a hand. "I can't believe you think that's okay. I need to send you a picture of the evening sky sometime."

"I'm fine with that. I don't really get views from my apartment."

The steel doors parted smoothly, and Oikawa, straightening up, headed to the right. Following along as Oikawa halted in front of his door, Iwaizumi couldn't stop glancing around at the plush surroundings, the little decorations on the wallpaper, the flowers resting in vases along the corridor on tiny tables. It was obviously a higher-end flat, and Iwaizumi wondered how a college student had enough money to afford a place like this. Maybe from the time he spent as a professional athlete?

"Here we are," Oikawa announced, standing to the side to allow Iwaizumi to walk through first.

"Nice place," Iwaizumi commented, because it really was. It was a level of spotless  he'd never even have time to try  and achieve at his own flat, bright colours splashed on the walls with tasteful pastel accents. Iwaizumi had no idea how that worked-but somehow, it did. 

"Compliment it more than that," Oikawa complained as he locked the door. "It took a lot of work to get it like this."

"It's clean."

Iwaizumi stood in the middle of the floor, feeling slightly awkward. Should he sit down? But he wasn't here to stay long. He just needed to get his clothes and go. Oikawa came up to him, lifting a hand up to not-very-well cover the chuckle from his lips.

"What?"

"You look so awkward, Iwa-chan. Relax. Throw your bag over there or something," Oikawa gestured with one of his structured hands. "It'll make you feel more at home, trust me."

"I'll need it to put my clothes into," Iwaizumi pointed out.

Oikawa sighed and threw his jacket carelessly across the couch. "There. Now do the same with your bag."

Iwaizumi blinked. "That didn't counter my point at all."

Iwaizumi started as Oikawa swiftly shifted nearer to him, hands deftly grabbing the strap of his bag and lifting it over his head, brushing against dark hair. 

"Oi! What are you doing?" Iwaizumi demanded, outstretching his hand for the bag currently swinging from Oikawa's fist.

"I'm making you more comfortable," Oikawa said brightly. "Trust me, it'll make you feel better." With that, he tossed the bag in the direction of the couch, where it flumped at the foot with a heavy thud.

"Oops," Oikawa said as soon as he noticed Iwaizumi's angered expression. "There wasn't anything breakable in there, was there?"

"No, luckily for you," Iwaizumi grumped out.

"But doesn't seeing it there make you feel better?"

With one last doubtful glare at Oikawa, Iwaizumi turned, feeling stupid, to look at the couch, with Oikawa's stylish jacket half-slipping off it onto the floor, his squished, boldly designed training bag resting in front of it.

"See?" Oikawa piped up. "Doesn't it look like it belongs there?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Hajime answered as he rotated back around, but the crease between his eyebrows was gone, his shoulders relaxing. "Are you going to give me back my clothes or what?"

"It worked," Oikawa crowed smugly, then grabbed Iwaizumi's wrist and began hauling him around for the second time that day. Iwaizumi gave up and let himself be dragged into Oikawa's bedroom. It was plain, almost too plain, dressed in creams and whites.

"Why don't you have anything on your walls?" Iwaizumi inquired as his wrist was released, Oikawa kneeling down to scuffle through his drawers.

"Why would I?" was the airy reply.

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Because-" Oikawa shook his head, his expression impossible to see. "Does it really matter?"

"I suppose not," Iwaizumi conceded. "It surprises me though, with your personality."

"Hah, you should've seen my teenage bedroom," Oikawa chuckled out.

"What was it like?"

Oikawa snorted. "Ridiculous. Posters everywhere, from any movie ever with aliens in them. When I was younger, I stuck green stickers all over my bedpost and drew faces on them to pretend that they were guarding me while I slept. Even up to eighteen, I still used to ramble to people about my favourite government conspiracy theories. That was stupid." Oikawa let out another snort, but this one was a lot more condescending. "This looks more like an adult's bedroom."

"Man, you sounded cute as a child. What happened?" Iwaizumi asked, unable to withhold a smile at the thought of little Tooru with his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth in concentration, a black marker in hand.

"Life," Oikawa stated much too cheerfully as he tugged out a t-shirt. "Same thing that happens to us all."

That sobered Iwaizumi for a moment.

"I used to have an obsession too, when I was younger," Iwaizumi started slowly. "Wasn't anything as cool as aliens though. Beetle catching. I can still remember every species name that I caught."

"That's a gross habit," Oikawa replied, folding a pair of jeans beside the t-shirt on the floor. "And cruel."

"I always let them go after a couple of hours," Iwaizumi defended himself. "My point is-"

"You had a point?"

"Let me continue, Oikawa. The point is, I bet you still like aliens. Just like I still like beetles."

Oikawa, kneeling on the floor, turned his head to gaze at Iwaizumi, standing there with his rough hands, with his mildly irritated expression Oikawa had learned to recognise as his regular expressions, with his naturally full eyelashes swaying up and down as he blinked. In the light flowing in from the window at the end of his bedroom, Iwaizumi's skin looked even darker, shadows underneath his straight jawline accented, pale green eyes glinting.

"Oikawa?"

Oikawa inhaled sharply, not realising he'd been holding his breath. Silently straightening up, he walked to his wardrobe and shoved all the clothes hanging up to one side. He didn't even need to gesture Hajime over before he was there, at his shoulder, looking in too. He let out a rich laugh of satisfaction, one that made Oikawa's ears burn.

"I knew it. You're still an alien nerd." 

Oikawa turned around and pushed him away playfully, so he couldn't see the tattered  Mars Attack poster plastered at the back of his wardrobe. "You're one to talk, beetle-guy. Your hobby is cruel and gross. Liking aliens is harmless!"

"Beetle-guy?  Is that the best you can do?" Iwaizumi chuckled as he stooped down to gather his clothes up from the floor.

"It was the best I could come up with on the spot, okay?" Oikawa pouted. 

“You need a lesson in insults from Kuroo,” Iwaizumi said as he headed out into the sitting room again. “Poor Lev gets the worst of it, for some reason. He says he’s filling in for someone called Yaku.”

“Yaku?” Oikawa’s eyes widened. “Yaku Morisuke?”

“Maybe?” Iwaizumi knelt down and started stuffing the clothes away in his bag. “I don’t think he ever mentioned his full name.”

“He was on the national team with me! He’s an excellent receiver,” Oikawa explained excitedly. “Kuroo went to Nekoma too?”

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi straightened up, slinging his bag over his shoulder again. “Along with Lev. They both speak very highly of him.”

“He was incredibly blunt,” Oikawa recalled aloud, his eyebrows scrunching up. “Reminds me a little of you, in fact. If you screwed something up, he’d tell you, but give you advice on how to fix it too.”

“He sounds like a decent guy,” Iwaizumi concluded, aware that he should leave now. 

Apparently Oikawa picked up on that frame of thought too, as he smiled, one only a little forced, and waved his hand. 

“Thanks for walking me home, Iwa-chan.”

“It’s no bother,” Iwaizumi responded with a casual shrug. “I’ll see you tonight, then.” 

“Yeah!” Oikawa replied, his smile growing in warmth. “I can’t wait to see how much Kindaichi has grown.” 

“He’s over two metres,” Iwaizumi said with a tiny, envious smile. “I wish I was that tall.” 

“Yeah, you’re actually kind of short for a spiker,” Oikawa realised with a tilt of his head, eying Iwaizumi up. “How tall are you?”

“One hundred and eighty point two centimetres.” Iwaizumi grimaced. “At least I reached one-eighty, eventually.” 

“Aww~, so tiny,” Oikawa cooed, patting Iwaizumi’s spiky hair. 

Jerking away with a scowl, Iwaizumi swatted Oikawa’s hand away roughly. “How tall are you then, asshole?” 

“Exactly five centimetres taller than you, and that’s all that matters,” Oikawa sung out.”Oh, you’re so precious! So short!” 

“I’m leaving.” 

Iwaizumi spun around and marched through the hallway as Oikawa pattered along behind him, a massive, teasing grin on his face. He unlocked the door for him, and Iwaizumi stepped on through, shifting the bag strap along his broad shoulder. 

“I’ll see you later, chibi-chan!” Oikawa chirped out. 

“If you call me that again I’ll punch you,” Iwaizumi threatened right before the door closed, leaving Oikawa to whisper out, “Chibi-chan,” with a shit-eating smile.

There was a moment of silence, then a vicious knock sounded on the other side of the door. 

“I heard that, asshole-wait, Assykawa.That fits you much better.” 

Oikawa let out an offended squawk, knowing he’d hear it on the other side. 

“How mean!”

“You deserved it.” 

Oikawa felt another knock on the door, this time lighter, timid almost. Simply alerting Oikawa to Iwaizumi’s next sentence. 

“I’m leaving this time for real, okay?”

“Okay~, tiny Iwa-chan!”

There was another second of silence, then Iwaizumi’s voice rumbled through the door. 

“Good. Bye. Oikawa.” 

“Goodbye,” Oikawa said, leaning his forehead against the wood. 

“You are going to show up tonight, yeah?”

“Of course.”

Footsteps sounded on the pristine floor, the ding of an elevator, and Oikawa raised his head. This time he was gone for real. 

Time to get ready for tonight, Oikawa thought gleefully, prancing back to his bedroom and dumb alien movie poster. 

\--------

Once he got home, Iwaizumi opened his laptop and typed in "Oikawa Tooru serve," hoping there would be results despite it being four to five years ago. He flung his bag into the corner and propelled himself into his favourite laptop position:on his back, laptop on his chest with his legs braced against the wall. It was also his favourite reading position, because it was genuinely comfortable. 

He clicked on youtube, choosing one that seemed the most factual and the less sensationalized. Okay, serve toss, Oikawa was very far back-unusually so, and he began running up to the ball, then-

what?

What.

Iwaizumi had blinked, and suddenly the ball was on the other side of the court. That couldn't be. Iwaizumi scrolled back to the beginning, thinking it had to be doctored. There was no earthly way a serve like that could exist. Replaying it again, Hajime focused solely and intensely on the brightly coloured ball this time. He barely saw Oikawa hit it before it was smashing down onto the smooth court. No. No freakin’ way. Impossible. Had to be edited.

Iwaizumi clicked on another video, this one entitled "Oikawa Tooru FAILED SERVE LOL"

He had failed, served straight into the net, but the net bowed so much under the force Iwaizumi was surprised it didn’t snap. 

And another, titled "OIKAWA 'MONSTER' TOORU KNOCKS OUT OPPONENT WITH SERVE"

Hajime's jaw swung open. The title, for once, wasn't exaggerating. One of those opposing team members hadn't been focusing, for some bizarre reason, and had received Oikawa's serve directly to his forehead. He'd flown back about a foot and a half before simply laying there, completely unconscious.

Now Iwaizumi saw why Oikawa hadn't been allowed to serve during practice.

Holy shit.

Hours and many, many watched youtube videos later - Oikawa’s fangirls had been insane - Iwaizumi took a glance at the time and cursed.

“Fuck!”

Half seven, and he wasn’t even dressed for the bar, which was a half an hour’s walk away. The thought of taking a cab sent bolts of dread up Iwaizumi’s spine, and he shook his head shakily, as if to physically reaffirm his decision. No. He’d run if needed.

\-----

Hurriedly locking his door, Iwaizumi glanced down at his thrown-together outfit and sighed. He hoped that his least-creased jeans and a plain hoodie would be enough, and that the rest of the lads weren’t dressed too formally. The worry was extinguished as soon as he thought of Bokuto trying to dress formally and he snorted in amusement. Akaashi would have quite a job trying to get Bokuto into a suit that didn’t tear at the upper arms. 

Nobody will mind, he reminded himself as he rushed down the stairs, somehow succeeding in not tripping over his loosely tied runners. He made it into the street intact, sidling along close to the buildings, stooping over with his hands cemented into his pockets. The streetlights weren’t needed just yet-it was summer, after all-and Iwaizumi was relieved to see that there wasn’t many people around at this hour. Between one and three am was when the dangerous ones emerged, when everyone was thoroughly hammered and dumb enough to take on anyone. Iwaizumi had returned from the factory once during those hours, and it had been hell getting back home. His apartment building was only two blocks down from a thriving, filthy club scene (also one of the reasons why it was so cheap) and he’d taken the long route around ever since then. 

A bump to his shoulder interrupted Iwaizumi's pondering. No, it wasn't a bump - it was a deliberate lumber into him, rough and forceful. His shoulder stinging, Hajime spun around instantly to see who it was, and found the assailant already facing him, a large grin slicked over his lips. A familiar grin, one that kept tracking him ever since he’d moved here. 

"Got a problem?"

Iwaizumi didn't miss the bandage plastered over the bridge of his nose. Apparently Kyoutani had broken it. Nice. Pride ran through Iwaizumi, enough for him to withhold his glower and keep a blank face. 

"Nothing," Hajime answered, not giving into the obvious provocation. He wasn't about to start something here. Turning his back to him, he resumed walking again, praying that the guy let him leave.

He did, apart from a vicious spit of, "Fucking cowardly faggot."

Iwaizumi's hackles bristled, but he bit back his urge to spin back around and pound the piece of shit into the dirt. He wasn't worth it, even though he kept fucking harassing Hajime. Iwaizumi had guessed that the occupants around here had wanted him out for ages - he didn't smoke, gamble or live life off the state as they did. He knew he didn't fit in here, but the rent was cheap as hell because of it. And that was the most important factor. He’d always gotten on okay, because he kept his head down and left them to their own devices, never involving himself in any of the feuds. Iwaizumi had tried to be recruited by gangs several times-he was seen as a fighter who could hold his own, after all-but, obviously, rejected all offers. It hadn’t helped his standing in the community here. 

Bringing Oikawa back to his apartment, it seemed like they finally had a reason to openly fuck with him. Hajime had realised at the time that helping him wasn’t the smartest choice for himself, for his wellbeing-people around here did not appreciate others sticking their noses into their business-but he couldn’t let anything happen right in front of him. It may have happened before, but Iwaizumi had always turned a blind eye to it, since it had never unfolded straight in front of him. However, ignoring it outright was impossible for him.

Plus, he’d never seen anyone stand up to them like Oikawa had. 

\------

Iwaizumi almost bashed his forehead in the second he entered the bar. Who the hell made the doorway so low? Okay, he might be rushing a little and not paying attention because he was late, but still. Grumbling, Hajime scanned around the crowded place, made up of scattered chairs and patrons clustered around in little groups. It was the sort of place where you grabbed a chair from anywhere and see how many of your friends could fit at the one table. Which was exactly what his friends had done, Iwaizumi realised as he spotted Bokuto's stuck-up hair. Kindaichi had indeed come through on his word to invite most people from practice. Kunimi and Ennoshita were seemingly deep in discussion, Aone and Akaashi were having a quiet, polite conversation and of course Kuroo and Bokuto were even louder than Terushima and Tanaka, who were butting heads over some unknown topic yet again. Kuroo noticed him first, raising a hand and waving him over. 

"Macho-kun, here's full so we kicked Kindaichi out to sit at the bar and keep the alcohol coming, wanna give him some company?" Kuroo was grinning, which Iwaizumi didn't like at all. 

"We get discounts because it's Tanaka's sister that runs this place and we're friends of his!" Bokuto added on joyfully, red spots already dimly appearing on his cheek.

"Nice," Iwaizumi said approvingly, nodding at Tanaka. "Thanks." 

"Yeah, how does it feel to have a sister cooler than you?" Ennoshita slotted in slyly.

“Saeko is in no way cooler than me!” Tanaka protested, folding his arms over his chest. 

“I’m going to go to Kindaichi, then. I’ll talk to you guys later.” 

The instant Iwaizumi was gone, the theorising started. Kuroo began, of course.

"I bet Kindaichi's going to implode from being around him so long."

"Nah, he's-" a hiccup from Bokuto "-he's gonna make a move. I'll bet on it." 

"Accepted!" Tanaka slammed down his palm with five yen underneath it.

Terushima stared expressionlessly at the pitiful amount of money before letting out a roar of laughter, smacking the table with his hand. “Five yen! Five goddamn yen! You fucking cheapskate, Tanny!” 

"I taught him how to flirt properly before we came here," Kunimi mentioned calmly. "He should be alright."

Kuroo started cackling, twisting around in his seat to catch the two sitting at the bar out of the corner of his eye. "Swap seats with me, Ennoshita. I want to see this." 

"You're a sadist," Ennoshita said bluntly. "Why would you encourage him if you know Iwaizumi has no interest in him? For a show?"

"Okay, whoa." Kuroo held up his hands defensively as all gazes at the same turned to him. "Look, I wouldn't set him up to fail if I thought there was no chance of them getting together. I simply like to set things in motion. Without me, Kin-kun would be sitting at home pining right now."

"You're one of Iwaizumi-san's close friends," Kunimi pointed out flatly. "How do you not know if he's interested in Kindaichi or not?"

"The part of Iwaizumi's brain that deals with feelings other than hunger never really developed properly," Kuroo sighed out tragically. "So I really don't know, because he doesn't know himself."

"Hunger is an emotion?" Aone questioned to Akaashi, who shook his head. "I'm sure it is for guys like Kuroo-san."

"Bro...why do you feel hunger if it isn't an emotion?" Bokuto asked, eyes wide.

"Deep, bro. it's like in a sub-category of emotions," Kuroo bullshitted. "Like a step away from emotions, but pretty damn close."

"There goes any logical conversation," Ennoshita sighed out, and turned back to Kunimi calmly to continue their discussion. 

He was right, and the conversation flipped from Iwaizumi and Kindaichi to proving if hunger was an emotion or not. This continued on back and forth for a few minutes before a need arose in Kuroo’s nether regions, and he straightened up. 

“Gonna go piss now.”

“Have a good one,” Bokuto wished him with a cheerful slosh of his glass upwards. 

The pee itself was uneventful, but when Kuroo emerged, Kunimi was loitering by the door, waiting for him. As soon as he spotted him, he grabbed onto Kuroo's arm with a grip that wasn't to be defied and dragged him over to the corner.

"Something I can help you with?" Kuroo inquired lazily, but honestly Kunimi was so serious it scared him a little.

"Why are you doing that?" Kunimi hissed out.

"I do a lot of things. You're going to need to be more specific."

"You're really insistent on Kindaichi and Iwaizumi getting together. Why?"

"Look, I know you're good friends with Kin-kun, and I'm not gonna crush his hopes, okay?"

"But you're the one giving him hope."

"Are you saying that he's not going to get Iwaizumi?"

"Being realistic, we all know Iwaizumi doesn't see him that way. So why are you not helping him?"

"I'll tell you something, Kunimi. In four years of knowing him, Iwaizumi has never dated anyone. Ever."

"So?"

"So I'm worried about him. He claims it's because of his jobs, but...." Kuroo sighed, sticking a finger in his ear to scoop out the wax, ignoring Kunimi's look of disgust. "I don't know. It's just unhealthy for him to close himself off completely, y'know?"

"So you're hoping Kindaichi will get through to him."

"Now ya get it. Yeah, something like that. Gotta keep up my image though, so don't mention this to anyone, ‘kay?"

Kunimi narrowed his eyes at Kuroo, staring at him as if weighing up his words and judging him intensely.

"Okay," was his final acknowledgement.

"Soo...we cool?" Kuroo questioned, outstretching his hand.

"As long as Kindaichi doesn't get hurt too badly," Kunimi replied, begrudgingly accepting Kuroo's handshake.

"If things don't work out, you know that Iwaizumi will let him down gently," Kuroo said.

"I know, but..." Kunimi glanced away, eyes flat and expressionless once again. "I don't want to have to see him like that."

Kuroo wasn't quite sure what to say to that. "We....we'd better get back to the others," he mentioned casually, dropping Kunimi's hand. "I don't want even more rumours circulating about my questionable straightness."

"Oh, you're referring to how you're still deluding yourself by the fact you seem to think you like women."

"I do like women! Their curves...ass, tits and stuff. Those sort of things."

"Well, that has totally convinced me. Let's compare that to something else, shall we? Say, what do you like about Kenma?"

"He's so gentle, like he cares about every spider in his room.” Kuroo smiled. “He doesn't try at many things, but when he puts effort into something, he's always beyond brilliant. It’s so unfair," Kuroo blurted out affectionately before stopping himself, with difficulty. "Hey, I see what you're trying to do and it's not going to work."

"It already has."

"Has not."

"I'm not doing this with you, Kuroo. Our conversation is finished." 

They returned to the table together, still bickering over whether their conversation was done or not. Neither one of them thought to spare a glance at the bar, where Kindaichi and Iwaizumi were sitting. 

\----------

Iwaizumi slid into the stool next to Kindaichi with a simple, "Hey," yet Kindaichi's heart jumped annoyingly high with joy. 

"Hello Iwaizumi-san," he replied, hand curling around his glass in anticipation. "I'm glad you made it."

"Ah, me too," Iwaizumi answered, a hand ringing around the back of his neck as he tried to decide on a drink. "I haven't gone out in a while."

His gaze was off to the side as he thought, allowing Kindaichi to fully admire the way his lips shifted slightly in indecision, the way his eyes creased up endearingly at the edges...and shit, he was saying something.

"Mm, what do you have?"

"Oh, ah, just a beer. Tanaka recommended it, but I can't remember what it's called. It's pretty good, though."

"Alright," Iwaizumi acknowledged, then waved over the bartender, Saeko, with her killer figure accented in a tight tank top and apron.

"Ooh, Iwaizumi! I haven't seen you in here in months! What's the special occasion?"

"Good to see you too, Saeko," Hajime politely responded. "No occasion."

"Ah, actually..." Kindaichi inputted. "It's my birthday celebration."

Iwaizumi rocked to the side in shock, green eyes wide. "Kindaichi, you never told me that! If I had known, I would've gotten you something-"

"Iwaizumi-san, it's okay," Kindaichi said gently. "The fact that you turned up is enough."

"What are you talking about?" Iwaizumi's hands were up in the air, moving around jerkily, clearly in distress. "It's your birthday!"

"Not yet," Kindaichi corrected him." It's in another two days, but this was the date that most people could come, so I'm celebrating it today."

"Then what are you doing, sitting up here on your own?" Iwaizumi questioned, baffled. "You should be with the guys."

"Well, I'm not on my own, am I?" Kindaichi pointed out shyly.

"Not anymore," Iwaizumi amended. "I'm really sorry I'm late, by the way. I got completely distracted by the internet and lost track of time."

Kindaichi's forehead creased up even as he nodded. "It's no problem, but that doesn't sound like you, Iwaizumi-san."

"Yeah, I know. I don't spend that much time online, but I found this really good volleyball channel on youtube, " Iwaizumi told him. He wasn't going to tell him he spent hours watching videos of Oikawa play. That would just be embarrassing, and beyond mortifying if Oikawa ever found out about it.

"So, what'cha want?" Saeko asked. "I can't stay around all night to listen to your nerdy volleyball talk, ya know."

Iwaizumi angled his head towards Kindaichi's drink. "I'll have what he's got, please."

"Sure thing~" Saeko winked charmingly, stepping off to the side, grabbing a glass as she went.

"She's hot," Kindaichi commented, just to see how Iwaizumi would react. It was the first step: find out if Iwaizumi is straight or not.

Iwaizumi looked over at him, mystified. "I thought you  weren't into women," he said bluntly.

"Ah, no, I'm not," Kindaichi flushed, taking a glug of his beer as if to save himself from the embarrassment.

"Huh." Iwaizumi blinked. "Sorry, should I have not said it like that? You look uncomfortable."

Kindaichi liked Iwaizumi and all, but sometimes he was really fucking slow to catch on. Okay, Kindaichi decided. Go straight for it. He won't figure it out otherwise.

"No, it's fine," Kindaichi began. "I know I can't even pretend to be straight."

Iwaizumi snorted as Saeko swooped in with the beer, and he handed over the money.  The temperature in Kindaichi's cheeks rose. He'd made Iwaizumi-san laugh. It gave him a burst of confidence, spurring him on to inquire, "what about you? Any particular taste in people?"

Iwaizumi shrugged, downing some of his beer. "I like what I like. I don't really see the point in thinking about stuff like that. And you were right, this beer is actually tolerable for once."

"Oi!" Saeko called over. "I heard that! Are you sayin' something about the quality of my bar, Mister Iwaizumi?"

"Nah, just the quality of the beer you serve."

“That’s the same thing in my book! I’m going to charge you full price for that!”

“Shit,” Iwaizumi mumbled, but he knew Saeko was only bluffing. He hoped, anyway. 

“So, Iwaizumi-san,” Kindaichi started off brightly. “How’s work?”

“Ah, you know. Same as always,” Iwaizumi shrugged again, swishing the piss-coloured liquid around in his glass. “What about you? What course are you taking?” 

“Engineering management,” Kindaichi replied. “It’s demanding, but I like it a lot.”

“That’s the important thing. Kyoutani didn’t turn up, no?”

“He told me to shove the invitation up my ass,” Kindaichi sighed out, staring down into his drink. 

Iwaizumi snorted. “He’s just shy. He doesn’t know how to interact with people outside of insulting them or getting in their face. He’s sweet, really.”

“Really?” Kindaichi looked incredibly doubtful. “Kenma didn’t come either, which I can understand-it’s Kenma- and Yahaba had a family arrangement, but Kyoutani was rude about it.”

“Eh, you’ll get to know him eventually.”

“How do you know him so well when he’s only been here as long as I have?”

“He lives around my area, so sometimes we hang out together.” 

A spike of jealousy stormed into Kindaichi’s chest, and he struggled to not let it show on his face. 

“That’s good, I guess. I always wondered how you got away with slapping him on the shoulder during practice.” 

Iwaizumi chuckled, a sound that rang out nicer than any music Kindaichi had ever listened to, and he could feel his face heat up already. Keep it together, Kin. You have a plan, remember? Stick to it. 

Time passed pleasantly, and Kindaichi could feel himself relaxing, feel Iwaizumi unwinding next to him, and it was wonderful. He could see the small crease usually between Hajime’s eyebrows smooth out, his shoulders moving less stiffly, the smiles coming easier. It could just have been the alcohol, but Kindaichi allowed those facts to give him confidence, brushing his hand against Iwaizumi’s when he reached for his new mug, leaning forward just that little bit more, trying out all the things Kunimi had given him a crash-course in. 

Iwaizumi seemed to respond-or, at the very least, when their knees tapped together for the seventeenth time-Kindaichi counted-he didn’t shift his legs away. Kindaichi’s knee was burning from the contact, his head growing dizzy as they talked on, spellbound with the idea that he was actually hanging out with Iwaizumi, he was actually flirting successfully with him. 

Was it good timing to try...to try to kiss him?

Kindaichi’s palms felt sweaty, and he subtly dragged a hand back through his jet-black hair, gaze lowering to Iwaizumi’s curved lips for a fraction of a second. There was no doubt in his mind that he wanted to, but here? In front of all of these people? And what if Iwaizumi rejected his kiss? He’d be humiliated in front of everyone-

No, Kindaichi thought. Kunimi told you not to think like that, remember? Think positive. 

“Do-”

Kindaichi hesitated, the words almost dying on his lips. Then he recalled Kunimi’s words and took a deep breath, meeting Iwaizumi’s beautiful, puzzled gaze head on.

“Would you like to go somewhere a little quieter? It’s kind of loud here.”

Hesitating for a moment, Iwaizumi tilted his head sideways, and Kindaichi’s heart felt like it stopped for that instant it took for him to make a decision. 

His heart began beating again when Iwaizumi smiled. 

“Sure-”

"Oh my! Kindaichi-kun! What a totally interesting coincidence to bump into you here!"

Oikawa sidled up with his back to Iwaizumi, smoothly slipping in between the barstools as he directed a blinding grin at Kindaichi.

"Oikawa-san...!" Kindaichi stumbled over the syllables, his eyes wide. "I didn't expect- Nice to- What are you-"

"Doing here?" Oikawa finished cheerily. "Going out, of course! I came here with Makki and Mattsun to unwind after practice and got such a surprise seeing my old teammate I had to come over to say hi!"

"Matsukawa-san and Hanamaki-san are here too?" Kindaichi asked, brightening up. "Where are they?"

"Hello to you too," Oikawa huffed out, crossing his arms and stepping out so he was beside Iwaizumi. "Iwa-chan, have you taught him any manners?"

"He isn't my son, so stop blaming me if he chooses to ignore you being annoying." Kindaichi blinked, confused.

"Iwaizumi-san, you know Oikawa-san?"

"Unfortunately," Hajime answered, earning him an offended squeak from Oikawa. "We ran across each other a couple of days ago, got talking about volleyball, and here we are."

That wasn't the entire truth at all, but Iwaizumi really didn't feel like explaining the entire thing to him.

To his surprise, Oikawa readily backed him up with, "Yeah! He was blown away by my expert setting and became determined to befriend me, so I tolerate him."

Not the backup Iwaizumi had ideally imagined, but good enough. 

"When did you see him set?"

Oh, shit.

"He told me his name, and I thought it sounded familiar so I looked him up. His serves are something else, aren't they?"

Kindaichi nodded eagerly as Oikawa looked at Iwaizumi. He hadn't seen him serve at practice today. Did that mean he was telling the truth and actually researched him? A smile, one that appeared of its own will, quirked the corners of Oikawa's lips upwards.

"I'm flattered, Iwa-chan," he sang out, leaning over to slink an arm around his shoulders in a gesture of appreciation. Kindaichi's eyes immediately were drawn to Oikawa's movement, rested for a heartbeat and then began darting around to anywhere else. Oh. Oh, Oikawa realised, smiling to himself. Somebody's a little territorial.

"Don't get used to it. You aren't that amazing," Iwaizumi deadpanned, but he did nothing to remove Oikawa's arm before he himself withdrew it in mock offense.

"Horrible! I don't know why I'm friends with you."

"He did compliment you," Kindaichi ventured. "He told you that you weren't 'that amazing.' Meaning you're amazing."

Was that an edge of jealousy on his voice? Oikawa decided that it most definitely was. Time to test his theory.

“Aww, Iwa-chan, you're too sweet~!"

Bending down, Oikawa pressed his lips against Hajime's cheekbone. And instantly turned to see Kindaichi looking as if he'd just dragged in his cat's corpse with a casual,  "Didn’t see it, whoops." Iwaizumi jerked away from Oikawa with his typical, trademark irritated expression. "If you're gonna do that, I'm taking it back."

He didn't wipe his cheek, though.

"I'm-I'm gonna go and say hi to Mastukawa-san," Kindaichi said weakly.

"Oh my, was it something I said?" Oikawa watched him make his awkward way through the crowd with a crooked smirk on his lips. Feeling a firm grasp on his arm, he was pulled into Kindaichi's newly vacant seat to face a very puzzled Iwaizumi. "What the hell was that?"

"Did you really not notice?"

Iwaizumi's frown deepened as much as his suspicious unease. "Notice what?"

"Would you happen to be dating Kindaichi, by any chance?"

Iwaizumi spluttered, messily wiping up the remains of his drink off his mouth with the back of his hand. "No! No, we're not. Why would you think that?"

"He appears to be just the slightest bit smitten with you." At Hajime's doubtful expression, Oikawa sighed. "Okay, let me ask you this: Has he been making jokes a lot?"

"I guess..."

"Has he been talking to you most of the night?"

"I suppose so."

"Has he been doing any of this?"

Oikawa then proceeded to demonstrate, shuffling to the edge of the barstool with a flirty smile so their knees brushed together. Following that, he propped one elbow up on the bar, tilted his head to the side and slowly threaded his fingers back through his brown locks, gaze flickering to Iwaizumi's lips for a mere instant. Iwaizumi felt his stomach tighten, his accelerating heartbeat reminding him that yes, yes Oikawa was as good-looking as he always claimed. He could be...really attractive when he wasn't being annoying, Iwaizumi realised. When he actually tried. 

"Uh..." Iwaizumi felt blood rush to his ears, tinting them a glorious red. "I think he was. Definitely the knee thing, anyway."

"You're blushing, so that's a yes in my book!" Oikawa crowed happily, seemingly too caught up in his victory to notice Iwaizumi’s red flush. 

His laughing face reminded Iwaizumi that he could be cute, too. Without even trying. HIs eyes were bright as he wriggled closer on his barstool eagerly, like he’s ready for the latest gossip.

"So you don't think of him that way at all? Are you straight?"

"Bisexual," Iwaizumi answered, shaking his head. "But I can't imagine being with Kindaichi that way. He's handsome and all, but..."

"Not your type?" Oikawa prompted.

"Yeah." Iwaizumi nodded. "Something like that."

Oikawa leaned in and whispered in Iwaizumi's ear. "When Kindaichi tries to kiss you, direct him towards Kunimi. Poor Kunimi's been gazing at him the way Kindaichi looks at you since high school. That's impressive, since his hair looked like a turnip back then."

Iwaizumi looked at Oikawa strangely. "How do you know all that?"

"It's obvious! What do you mean, how do I know?" Iwaizumi spread his hands in sheer frustration, a deep frown etching itself into his features. "How the hell is any of that obvious? Did Kunimi tell you that?" 

Oikawa gazed at him for a brief moment before laughing, tossing his head to the side with a smirk. "Iwa-chan, you aren't too good with reading the relationships between people, are you?" 

"I'm just fine at it. I've made it this far, haven't I?"

"Did you even realise that Kindaichi liked you before I told you? He's totally intending to kiss you, I can sense it. Or was."

"I did. Well, kind of," Iwaizumi mumbled. "Kuroo kept insisting that he did." 

"The guy who's been denying the gay side of him for years picked up quicker than you? That's sad."

"Shut up," Iwaizumi muttered, his ears a flaming red. "I thought he admired me as a role model, yes. That's it."

"Later, you'll see I was right." Oikawa winked at him. "You could fuck him if you want. I know he definitely wouldn't object."

"I'm not going to sleep with him if I have no intention in having a relationship with him. That's cruel."

"One night stands are a thing, you know," Oikawa suggested carefully.

"That's if you're strangers, and never have to see each other again. Plus, if you're right and Kindaichi is attached to me, wouldn't that just be using him?"

"I never knew you were capable of such deep thought, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi glowered at him for a second, raising his hand as if to smack the stupid grin right off of Oikawa's face. Oikawa didn't flinch. He knew Iwaizumi wasn't going to hit him. Or, if he did, it wouldn’t be very hard. Lowering his hand with a sigh, Iwaizumi twisted in more to the table, scratching up behind one ear absently.

"I don't want to upset the kid."

"Kid? He's twenty."

"Still younger than me."

Oikawa puffed out a short sigh, angling his head on top of his palms as he gazed at Iwaizumi, an uncharacteristically serious expression arranged on his face.

"You're going to upset him in some sort of way, unless you date him out of pity."

"I don't pity date," Iwaizumi cut in sharply. "It's stupid, not to mention disrespectful."

Oikawa's lips slid outward into a pout, thinking of all the cute girls he'd dated in hope that he'd develop feelings for them. Hadn't worked. 

"I guess."

“Oh, it look like your friends are at it again,” Iwaizumi mentioned casually, eyes fixed on a spot behind Oikawa. 

Rotating around, Oikawa hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I can’t believe they’re making out again. Just walking here with them was hell. Did you know that it’s possible to kiss for four solid minutes and twenty-two seconds while walking?”

“That’s...an oddly specific time.”

“I timed it. After the first thirty seconds.”

“Poor Kindaichi looks so uncomfortable.”

“Welcome to my life,” Oikawa deadpanned, leaning over to sniff Iwaizumi’s drink. “Ew! What is that?” 

“Funny, I actually don’t know,”  Iwaizumi commented, swirling it around. “It’s impossible to get properly drunk from, but it’s something.” 

“Uncultured,” Oikawa said with disgust, scrunching up his nose. His quite cute nose, if Iwaizumi was being honest with himself. 

Wait, why did he keep noticing how damn good Oikawa looked today?

“Did you do something with your face?” Iwaizumi blurted out.

Oikawa gave Iwaizumi a bemused look, hair scuffling along his forehead as he angled his head to the side.

“Just the usual touches of makeup here and there, styled my hair...nothing major,” Oikawa responded, running his fingers along the edge of the bar counter. “I know I look good, but don’t I always?”

“Depends on whether you’re being annoying or not,” Iwaizumi answered, slightly angry with himself for just throwing out the question like that without thinking. Now he’d given Oikawa another ego boost. 

“I still look good when being a dick,” Oikawa defended himself. “Some may even find it sexy.”

“Those people need their heads checked.” 

“Hey, I’m attractive to…..”

And so on and on. Kindaichi’s seat gradually became Oikawa’s seat as they talked on, about everything and anything. Iwaizumi found out more about the depths of Oikawa’s obsession with aliens, how only three others knew of it because people kept laughing at him, how he had endless theories about the X-files. More importantly, Iwaizumi discovered how Oikawa’s glow became ultraviolet when he was chattering on about something he loved, how his hands threaded through his hair when he was nervous about starting onto a topic, how he constantly feared that he was boring Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi learned how Oikawa could listen just as well as he talked, listened to Iwaizumi’s solid, logical thoughts on what aliens would look like. How Oikawa’s true grin emerged, glorious in its crookedness, when he was discussing what he loved most. 

Before long, Iwaizumi became aware of the bar again, aware that all the couples around them were beginning to get a little too into it for comfort. 

“How long are we here?” Iwaizumi questioned, taking out his phone. “Holy shit, three hours?!”

“Three hours?”  Oikawa gaped at him, frantically looking around for Makki and Mattsun. “If they left without me again, I swear to god I’m going to-”

“Oikawa, calm down. They’re over there,” Iwaizumi pointed them out, huddled tightly together in a dimly lit corner of the bar. Major, major pda going on. 

“Ugh, why do all my friends have to be in relationships?” Oikawa complained, his fingertips dancing along the wooden counter in frustration. 

“I’m not, so stop whining,” Iwaizumi shot back, heaving himself to his feet. “I’m going to pee, and then I have to go.” 

“Already?”

“I don’t want to head back after one. It gets...unpleasant.”

“I know,” Oikawa sympathised. “Trust me, I know.” 

“Be right back.”

“Okay~”

\----

“Kindaichi, you look upset.” 

Jolting his head up off of his palm, Kindaichi shook his head furiously-maybe a bit too vigorously. Matsukawa and Hanamaki were both staring at him with identical little grins that sent shivers down his spine.

“I’m not. Why would you think that?” Kindaichi bullshitted, thanking fuck he’d improved at lying since high school. That didn’t mean he was good at it, though. Just not completely awful.

“Aw look, the honest turnip is trying to lie to us.”

“Us, the all-knowing senpais? Impossible. Come on, Kindaichi, you can confide in us.”

“Hanamaki-senpai,  I’d appreciate it if you could stop calling me a turnip.”

“Oh, yes. I see you’ve changed your hairstyle.” Hanamaki grinned. “Sorry, Kindaichi. Once a turnip, always a turnip.” 

“Takahiro, shut up. You’re upsetting him further.”

“I’m not upset,” Kindaichi denied, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Matsukawa raised his eyebrows and exchanged a we-don’t-believe-a-word-of-it stare with Hanamaki before sighing heavily, his arm wound around Makki’s shoulders. 

“Is it to do with the fact that Oikawa’s been talking to Iwaizumi all night?”

Kindaichi’s flush gave it away before he even had the chance to speak. Matsukawa grinned widely, and Hanamaki looked at him, impressed. 

“How did you know that?”

“He’s been glancing over at them all night, how have you not noticed?” 

“I haven’t!”

“I didn’t, but-” here Hanamaki turned his focus back to Kindaichi. “Which one is it? Oikawa or Iwaizumi?” 

Kindaichi flinched, raising his hands up into the air if to create a physical barrier between him and the merciless interrogators. 

“Neither, so-”

“I’m going to go over to your friends and ask them,” Matsukawa announced, standing up and weaving effortlessly between the slits in the crowd before Kindaichi could protest.

“Oh, god…” Kindaichi mumbled, dropping his head into his hands. 

“By the way,” Hanamaki mentioned, bored gaze searching him. “We know you liked one of the senpais in high school. You’re not that subtle about your crushes, are you?”

“Stop, I know…” Kindaichi groaned out, glancing back to see Mattsun and Kuroo conversing, both with identical smirking grins on their faces. Kuroo caught his stare and waved amiably, apparently trying to act innocent. 

“Who was it? I’ve got a two thousand bet riding on this,” Makki continued, lazily scratching at the surface of the table. “I’d really appreciate it if you told me.”

Kindaichi hesitated, then sighed loudly. It wasn’t as if he had any more dignity to lose, after all.

“Watari-san.” 

“Ooh, so not one of the third years? Dammit, Issei was right again,” Hanamaki grumbled. “Why is he so much better than me at this?”

“I take it that he was the one to kiss you first, then?”

“Where’d that come out of?”

“Oh...you know, I was just thinking…” Kindaichi trailed off, staring at the marks etched into the wooden surface.

“About kissing your crush and what’d happen?” Makki guessed, then a smile grew as Kindaichi’s ears went red. “Nailed it. But, no.”

“No?” Kindaichi lifted his head again, eyebrows knitting together. “But if Matsukawa-san’s better at reading people, then why didn’t he pick up on your feelings?”

Hanamaki sighed, brushing a hand over his light brown hair absently as he spoke. 

“He’s good at reading people, yes, but when it came to me, he was as dumb as shit. I love him and all, but he didn’t realise that I liked him until I was kissing him. And that was with constant flirting-I even put my hands down his shorts, for christ’s sake. How much more obvious can you get? Even after I kissed him, he stood there with this stupidly blank expression on his face until I threatened to steal his precious psp.”

Hanamaki let out another massive sigh, shaking his head, but there was a fond smile on his lips. “Issei’s a moron at times. Dunno what he’d do without me, really.”

Chuckling, Kindaichi stopped as soon as he felt a hand on his shoulder, and then Matsukawa was leering over the table at Hanamaki. 

“What’d you say about me?”

“That you’re a moron,” came the lethargic answer. 

They stared lovingly at each other for a few quiet seconds before Mattsun grabbed Makki’s shirt and pulled him in for a rough kiss over the table. Kindaichi averted his eyes politely, wishing he could avert his ears too. He only dared look back over at them when Matsukawa was seated at the other side of the table-in Hanamaki’s lap, but still seated, despite the hands sliding up slowly underneath his shirt.

“Iwaizumi.”

“Iwaizumi?”

“Iwaizumi,” Matsukawa confirmed. 

Kindaichi’s gaze flickered up to the bar, where Oikawa was gesturing around vividly with his hands and Iwaizumi had a subtle half-smile on his lips, nodding every so often.

“Yeah.” 

The duo over the table followed his line of sight, and both, in tandem, nodded understandingly. 

“Are you afraid you’ll lose him to Oikawa?”

Kindaichi’s silence was all they needed. 

“Look,” Hanamaki started. “If Oikawa’s interested in him, you don’t have to worry. His relationships never last long.”

“The longest one was two months, and that was impressive for him,” Mastukawa added on. “So hang in there, okay?”

“Alternatively, you could move on,” Makki suggested. “From the looks of it, at your friends’ table there’s lots of attractive fellows.”

“‘Fellows’,” Matsukawa snickered, then promptly got prodded in the ribs. 

“Shut up.”

“Thank you for your advice,” Kindaichi said, eyes downcast but thoughtful. “I’ll take it on board.”

“We wouldn’t be good senpais if we abandoned you like this, now, would we? Couldn’t leave you pining and lovestruck without offering some friendly advice.”

“You’re one to talk, Issei. I seem to recall you pining over someone and never making a single move.”

Kindaichi sensed it was time for him to leave, before they began cuddling and openly making out on the seat again. 

“Say hello to Oikawa for me, please,” Kindaichi told them, standing up. “I’m going to go over to Kuroo and the rest to get drunk.”

“Ah yes, the age-old remedy for a broken heart,” Matsukawa teased, just before Hanamaki began nuzzling his neck. “Good luck, Kindaichi. We’ll see you again soon.”

“Of course.”

\-------------

“Have a good piss?”

“Why do you need to know that?” Iwaizumi questioned, slipping back into his seat that Oikawa somehow kept free. 

“I was making polite small talk,” Oikawa retorted back as he hopped off his stool. “Come along, Iwa-chan. I’ll walk you to the door.”

“Thanks. I feel so much safer now,” Iwaizumi deadpanned as he followed Oikawa’s deft, graceful shifts through the tables and people. Wondering if he should tell the others that he was leaving, he glanced over to their table, saw everyone laughing and obviously quite drunk, and decided he’d be okay leaving unannounced. He didn’t really feel like dealing with all the shit Kuroo would throw at him for not hanging out with them all night. 

Reaching the door, Oikawa tugged it open and slipped through into the orange-lit night, the front of the bar circled by a few idling smokers. Iwaizumi halted beside him, nudging his shoulder against Oikawa’s deliberately.

“When will I see you next?”

Oikawa bent down and produced a packet of cigarettes, lighting up before he answered.

“We have each other’s numbers, so we can arrange something that way. And you’re more than welcome to join us at practice regularly.”

“I can barely go regularly to one practice,” Iwaizumi replied with a small chuckle, watching Oikawa’s slow inhale. “I’ll try to let you know when I’m free to meet up, though.” 

Oikawa smiled at him, returning the light shoulder bump. “You know I’m going to hold you to that, right? Are you sure you want my company? There’s only so much rambling a person can take, you know, and I need to spread my perfect personality around to all.”

Insecurity hidden under confidence, Iwaizumi was beginning to realise, was Oikawa’s forte.

“In that case, I think I’ll text you so I can ignore you when I want.”

“Why would you want to ignore me?!”

Iwaizumi chuckled, longer and louder this time. “Many reasons, Oikawa. But it’s getting cold. You should get back inside.” 

“So you want me to go now? I’m hurt. I thought you liked my company.”

Oikawa lay a hand over his chest, the smouldering cigarette angled between two fingers. 

“You know I need to go. Don’t patronise me. I told you, I’ll text you, so get inside already.”

“Let me finish my cigarette first,” Oikawa whined out, taking a long drag as ash fell to the pavement at his feet. 

“I can’t hang around for that long. See you.”

Iwaizumi turned around and started walking along the path, adopting a quick pace to stave off the coldness creeping in through his jacket. A cheery voice rose to follow him.

“Goodbye, Iwa-chan!”

Unknown to Oikawa, Iwaizumi smiled, a simple quirk of his lips upwards, and continued on his way home. 

\------------

Iwaizumi knew something was wrong as soon as he saw the crude marks etched into the hem of his door. The devastation of a crowbar. Rage sparking up a storm within Iwaizumi, he didn't think for a second before smacking his front door wide open and striding into his wrecked apartment. He didn't even consider the possibility that the person who broke in might still be in his apartment. Every step fueled Iwaizumi's anger, every skewed picture past, every fleck of glass dotting the floor underneath his sneakers. How dare they. How dare they come in here and smash up his-his-home like this? He had an idea of exactly who did it, too. And why. A movement in the kitchen drew his attention rapidly, and he stormed through the doorway.

"Fucking bastard!"

A tall man , hood up, flinched at Iwaizumi's roar, dropping the spray bottle in his hand as Iwaizumi advanced threateningly towards him.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Iwaizumi growled, slamming the unresisting man up against the red-tinted wall he'd been working on.

"Jus' helping a buddy out," was the nonchalant reply from thin lips.

Almost snarling aloud in anger, Iwaizumi drew back his fist, then his gaze caught on the massive letters scrawled across his wall, what the man had been finishing off. He only got a glimpse, but it was more than enough to see that “fag” had been mentioned more than once.

"You piece o-"

A crack echoed throughout the kitchen, and Iwaizumi lost his grip on the man, staggering backwards, almost into the man with a bandage across his nose. The man currently holding a fire extinguisher.

"Damn, not hard enough?!"

Iwaizumi didn't get a chance to recover, even a little. His head was splitting open, it seemed, images whirling around him and sensations not making sense as he folded onto the floor, clutching at his skull.

"Here goes again!"

A second, gut-wrenching crack sounded through the entirety of Iwaizumi's apartment, and this time he simply collapsed. The spray can was picked up, the fire extinguisher discarded, and the blood leaking out through Iwaizumi's dark hair was stepped over.

"See? I told you it'd be alright."

"Ha, true. I guess it wasn't that bad."

Voices faded into the hallway, and footsteps, the side of the soles ringed faintly with red, clobbered out the door, which swung open vacantly on its hinges.

A few seconds passed by.

It was now Friday, and Iwaizumi Hajime lay unconscious on his kitchen floor for the second time in a week. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's the end he's dead
> 
>  
> 
> yes this thing actually has a plot  
> also the chapter titles went to shit a lot faster than i expected


	7. Bonding : Hospital Style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hospital banter and family backstory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> late but hey it's almost as long as the last one (still didn't fit as much as i wanted into it)  
> also im going camping soon so next update may be shorter or slower or both I apologise in advance  
> on a serious note: thank you so much to everyone who commented on the last chapter i really, really am grateful to all of you for taking the time to do that

“Yeouch,” Oikawa muttered, one eye glaringly red as he flicked his last, remaining contact into the bin. “I hate the troublesome ones.”

Slotting on his glasses, he strolled back into the sitting room, dumping himself on the couch and checking his phone. He’d left the bar shortly after Iwaizumi, due to the fact Mattsun and Makki were very eager to get back to their place, and there was no reason for him to stay after that. Being the clingy bitch he was, he’d thought of some more points he could make for a discussion they were having and had obviously sent them to Iwaizumi immediately.

Who hadn’t answered yet. He couldn’t have work at this time, right?

Maybe his phone died, Oikawa mused, flopping over onto his front.

Or maybe he’s tired of you. You were talking to him for three hours. He must be sick of you by now. You didn’t even-

Gritting his teeth, Oikawa grabbed the remote and turned the tv on, deliberately placing his phone far away from him. It didn’t matter, he told himself. It didn’t matter if Iwa-chan didn’t reply to him. It didn’t matter if another person he became fond of got sick of his stupid shitty personality and left-

Oikawa’s hand crushed the remote, and the channels rapidly flickered past, blinking images of flashy game shows, of dumb comedies, of sci-fi plots that got old thirty years ago.

“Fuck,” Oikawa muttered, relaxing his grip on the remote. He exhaled shakily, letting the clamber of an argument of a reality tv show fill up his head. Fumbling in his pocket, he stared at the “SMOKING KILLS” warning blaring in his vision before pocketing them. He didn’t like smoking in his apartment anyway-it made everything stink. Clambering out of the sofa, Oikawa made his way to the kitchen, swinging open the cupboard door. Luckily, there was something else that could calm his early-morning nerves. Settling himself onto a chair, Oikawa relished the slow burn of the liquid dragging down his throat, curling his fingers up in the brown strands of his fringe. It was growing greasy-when was the last time he’d washed it? Exhaling, Oikawa closed his eyes, trying to recall. Oh. Iwa-chan’s apartment. Iwa-chan, who wouldn’t answer him.

Annnnnnd right back to feeling like shit again.

Lavishly pouring himself some more, Oikawa straightened, swishing the clear liquid around in his glass with a practised flick of his wrist, a habit of his. Walking back into the sitting room with a slight sway, Oikawa couldn’t help himself stealing a glance at his phone. He knew he would’ve heard it if he’d gotten a text-his volume was up full, vibration on-but yet he found himself reaching over, grasping the cool metal within his palm.

No reply.

Stop being so reliant on other people, you goddamn idiot. This always happened, it’s repeating again. Don’t smother him.

Oikawa tossed the phone onto the table, furiously holding back his urge to fling it across the room. Calm down. Downing another lot-too much, Oikawa’s head spun for a moment, but that was good, good, because the swish of his thoughts drowned out the other ones.

His ringtone sang out through his apartment, and Oikawa's head spun towards the sound. It couldn't be Iwa-chan, could it? They'd talked most of the night, and just because Oikawa felt like they could converse endlessly didn't mean Iwaizumi felt the same way. Still, he couldn't help himself gripping onto the faint hope that it was him, that he was going to ask if he got home okay, tell him firmly to get to sleep, giving him the gentle advice to drink some warm whiskey. Oikawa really needed that right now. Hesitating, Oikawa stared blankly at his vibrating phone for a few seconds before picking it up. Caller ID unknown.

"Hello?"

"Ah, Tooru, I see you're awake still. I told Mom that you would be, but she didn't believe me."

His sister. A successful lawyer, mother, wife, advisor. His parents' perfect child, and Oikawa's perfect insecurity.

"Yeah, I am. Why'd you hide your number?" Oikawa didn't mean to come across as defensive, but his tone was sharp.

"You wouldn't have picked up otherwise, would you?  Mom wants to say hi in a minute, but first, how are you?"

"I'm fine," Oikawa lied smoothly, heading back to the kitchen to swish his alcohol around fluidly in the glass. "How are you? How's Takeru?"

"Takeru's doing excellently, as usual." Pride was woven strongly through her voice. "He asks for you a lot, you know. About when you're coming back home to coach more. Do you think you could arrange a trip back this summer?"

"I guess. I'm glad he's doing well, he's a natural at volleyball."

"Takes after you then."

The conceited reply his sister was expecting was on the tip of his drunken tongue, but didn't quite get past his lips.

"Yeah."

There was a silence on the other end, and Oikawa could almost see the particular fold at the corners of her brown eyes deepening, becoming suspicious.

"Has something happened?"

Oikawa exhaled, taking a second to down more of the liquid in his glass.

"No, of course not!" He chirped. "Why would you think that?"

"I just-hold on Mom, we're still talking-fine, alright then go ahead-"

"Tooru!"

"Hi, Mom," Oikawa sighed out. “How are you keeping?”

"Why haven't you called? Did you go on another one of your disappearing phases again? Are you even in your apartment-"

"Yes, yes, I'm in my fucking apartment," Oikawa snapped out, then guilt washed through him like molten lead, weighing down his limbs. "Sorry," he mumbled.

There was a long sigh from his mother, with her wrinkles masked by a thick layer of tan paste and her hair bleached to a state worse than straw. She didn't care about him. She cared about his behaviour and appearance, how he came across and charmed others.

"I'm worried about you-"

"You're worried about how your friends will gossip about me being unruly and wild," Oikawa said blankly. “About how you could never control me properly, about how odd I grew up.”

“Tooru, stop. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous. I know when I’m being ridiculous.”

Oikawa was calm, a sort of calm that occurred sometimes when he was right in the heat of a match, and yet he knew he had the upper hand, because he had completely figured out the other team. He’d realised their blind weaknesses and how to crumble down their strengths slowly, bit by bit. Sad, really, Oikawa thought bitterly. How everything seemed to come down to tearing the enemy down.

“That was years ago, I’m not friends with them anymore. I’m trying-”

“Not enough,” Oikawa cut across her, hand gripping the fabric of his trousers. “I heard them talking about me, and you said nothing, _nothing at all_ to defend me!”

“Tooru. I’m sorry. I know I was wrong.”

Knots laced Oikawa’s throat, the petty words boiling at the back of his mouth, but  he bit them back. Starting another argument wasn’t going to help anything, but he never seemed to be able to stop himself from starting the same bitter conversation over and over again. Anger prickled at the corners of Oikawa’s mellow eyes in the form of tears. He was so tired, tired of not being able to let this age-old grudge go. All he wanted right now was a sincere hug. His mother picked up on his silence and swooped in, hitting him with the exact words he needed at the exact time. It was a talent of hers.

“I care about you. Come home, and we can talk about this face-to-face. You haven’t seen your sister in months, too. We all miss you.”

Oikawa hesitated, inhaling those four words.

We all miss you.

Suddenly, he felt like crying.

“I-”

I miss you too. Even if you cared about outward appearances, I know you care about me too. Even if you prefer my sister, I know you’re trying.

“I’ll come home soon, okay? Tell sis not to worry about me. I’m fine.”

He could feel his mother smile in relief, all the way back home in Miyagi.

“I’m glad, Tooru. Now get to sleep, it’s too late for you to be up.”

Oikawa smiled, a wavering one with tears at the edges, but a smile nonetheless.

“I will, Mom.”

Leaning forward, he placed the glass on the table.

“Call us, alright?”

“I will. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, my little Tooru. Hold on-”

Oikawa could hear the slight rustle as the phone changed hands.

“Night, Oiks! I’ll be expecting to hear from you soon. It’s Takeru’s birthday in July, don’t forget that. He’ll be expecting you back for that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there,” Oikawa promised with a tiny smile. “Don’t worry, sis.”

“As long as you show up around the time, he won’t care if it’s actually his birthday. Anyway, nighty night and don’t let the bed-”

“Sis, I’m not five.”

“-bugs bite!” she finished cheerfully, to which Oikawa rolled his eyes heavily.

“Goodnight,” he stated firmly, then hung up.

He sat there for a moment, allowing the speck of warmth to flicker inside his chest with bated breath, waiting to see if the other thoughts came back. They  didn’t, and Oikawa let out his caged breath, unfolding himself to stand up and walk to his bedroom.

He left his phone on the table.

He didn’t need it anymore.

\-------

Iwaizumi only woke up to vomit.

Pressing his palms against the unsteady floor, Iwaizumi struggled to get upright, disorientated. That was lucky, he could've choked on his own vomit....Wait...what happened again? There was another a violent disturbance in his stomach, and he only made it to the kneeling position before doubling over again, lumpy liquid spewing from his mouth onto the floor. Through slitted eyes, Iwaizumi surveyed the room around him-why was everything destroyed?- for barely a second before wincing. The back of his head was killing him, and he clapped a palm to the painful area. His eyes widened, his fingers frantically working at his hair. A large, sticky, syrupy-like...thing was entangled in his hair, and when Iwaizumi withdrew his hand, it was splattered with dark blood. Then Iwaizumi remembered. The bastard had knocked him out with something. Some object that fucking hurt. That's why his apartment was messed up, and why his head was screwed up. Anger shot through Iwaizumi, enough for him to stagger to his feet and lean against a chair, ignoring the nausea that smacked him. The stench of his own vomit was quickly worming its way up his nose, and he scrunched it up in disgust. How bad was his injury?

If he couldn't get to work-

God, Iwa-chan, is work all you think about?

Iwaizumi whirled around, half-expecting Oikawa to be there, smirking at him with a hand cocked on his hip, but there was nothing. Of course. Was he having hallucinations already? Were hallucinations even a sign of concussion? Was the knot of blood in his hair a concussion or something worse? Feeling something dribble down the inside of his nostril, Iwaizumi lifted a hand to the underneath of his nose, and liquid slowly dripped onto his fingers. It was crimson, a rich red.

Iwaizumi felt panic rise in him, panic not helped by the fact that he could hardly stumble around. He couldn't handle this himself. Couldn't possibly manage to patch this up himself. He'd never dealt with such a throbbing, pulse-racking head wound before, and it felt bad. Really bad. Iwaizumi pressed his fingers through the tough clot and felt a tiny fracture, snaking up just off-centre of his scalp. The bastard had split his skull.

"Oh, shit. Shit, shit!"

Iwaizumi was never one for blind panicking, but he couldn't help his breaths coming out harsher and faster, little shivers bolting down his spine. The shivers seemed to all gather together in his stomach, a sick sensation roiling around like continuous punches to the gut.

Cool it Hajime, Iwaizumi told himself firmly, clutching the back of the chair. What needs to be done? Hospital. How was he going to get there? Run? Iwaizumi almost uttered out a hoarse laugh before his head gave another hard pulse. He could call someone, the gang would still be there at the bar. He thought. Who, then?

Akaashi. Akaashi would stay calm and know what to do, right? Phone, where was it? Where'd he leave it? Iwaizumi scrambled within his pocket, realised it was the wrong pocket, and tried again with a swimming vision. He wasn't in good shape, no, not at all, and he was realistic enough to know he couldn't deal with an injury like this on his own. Where was his phone? Iwaizumi's hands patted frantically all around his body, then hit a solid, thin block in his pocket. That's right. He had a jacket on. His jacket pocket. Iwaizumi's head was shutting down further with every fumbling thought as he clung onto the back of the chair. He could vaguely register that he had a few texts, but the letters were bleary. He couldn’t even tell who they were from, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. His fingers wouldn't work the way he wanted them too, not at all. Four, four, four, seven? Fuck, his bloody finger slipped. Mustering up all his splintered concentration, Iwaizumi tapped in his passcode correctly this time, thumb drifting over to the contacts icon. Almost there. The names kept going in and out of focus, blurred and then not, readable and then illegible. Akaashi was top of his list, thank goodness for his name.

Almost toppling over the chair, Iwaizumi stumbled around it and slumped into the seat as he pressed Akaashi's number. Please be awake, Iwaizumi willed him. Please be sober, like you always are to look after Bokuto. Please answer.

"Iwaizumi-san?"

"Akaashi, thank fuck-"

"It's Kindaichi. I mean, I'm Kindaichi.  I'm not Akaashi."

There was muffled giggling from the other, surrounded by raucous yelling. They're drunk. Shit, Akaashi, please-

"Kindaichi, can I speak to Akaashi please?"

"Why not me? Why don’t you ever want to talk to me?"

Iwaizumi’s vision was flashing at the edges, except for the lights were dark, there were dark smudges closing in on his gaze.

"This isn’t the time for that, dammit! I need Akaashi, you're drunk -"

"Am not!"

"Kindaichi, who is it?"

"Bicep-san..."

"Give it to me, please."

"Hello?"

"Akaashi, I need…”

Iwaizumi’s voice slipped down, and he fought to concentrate, to form words. The phone dropped from his hand, and a wave of darkness splayed over Iwaizumi’s vision. He felt like screaming. No, no, not now-

“Iwaizumi-san?”

Folded over the table, Iwaizumi didn’t hear him.

“Iwaizumi-san? Is there something wrong? Bokuto-san, stop, I think Iwaizumi-san needs-”

The phone went dead, and Iwaizumi stayed still.

\-------

Flopping onto the sofa, Oikawa sulkily checked his phone, pouting harder when he saw that Iwa-chan still hadn’t replied. It was morning now, why wasn’t he answering him? It wasn’t like his texts were too cringey.

 

 **the perfect one:** i’m still convinced that aliens would have big heads

i mean if they figured out how to travel through space they’d have to be smarter than humans and that means bigger brains which means bigger heads

 

Frustrated, Oikawa delved his fingers back through his hair-it was already messed up anyway-and tossed the phone in an attempt not to care about Iwaizumi’s silence. He probably fell asleep as soon as he got home last night, and likely had work today. It probably wasn’t either of their faults why Iwaizumi hadn’t replied. It was just that Oikawa demanded almost constant attention, and it didn’t matter if you were busy. He wanted attention, and he wanted it as soon as possible. Lazing across the length of his sofa, stretched out like a cat, Oikawa considered ringing Iwaizumi, to see what was going on. At the very least, it would remind him that Oikawa was awaiting his answer. Turning on the television, he wrinkled up his nose at the idea.

He’d just be bothering him, even more than he already was.

\--------

The second time Iwaizumi awoke, he didn’t vomit, lucky for the gleaming white blankets he was straddled in. Through blurred, half-open eyes, he could make out four people gathered around his room...no, not his room. The bed he was lying in wasn’t his bed, either. And he could hear a dull sound of bustling activity outside the plain room, a sound very familiar to him. Hospital. That’s where he was.

“Iwaizumi-san, are you awake?”

“You’ve got to stop getting yourself injured like this, or I swear to God you’re going to give me a heart attack one day. You’ll be the cause of my untimely death.”

Iwaizumi groaned, immediately recognising the voice, capped by unruly black hair.

“Kuroo, this one wasn’t my fault, alright?”

“What happened?”

A new voice, but one he recalled nonetheless. Opening his eyes, Iwaizumi properly took in the four men ringing his bedside. Yahaba stood there, eyes bright and inquiring. Beside him, Kyoutani was shifting from one foot to the other, his dark-rimmed eyes looking strangely guilty. At the foot of the bed, Akaashi was present, calmly gazing at Iwaizumi. Behind him, Kuroo was reclining on the one and only chair in the room, seated on it sideways with an arm slung over the back.

“Wait,” Iwaizumi slurred out. “How did I get here?”

"You sounded like you needed help, so I asked Kyoutani to drop in to check up on you, since it would take him much less time. He and Yahaba found you collapsed over the table, called me, and Kuroo drove us to the hospital. Quite dangerously, in fact, but somehow we made it here in one piece. "

Akaashi's voice was calm and factual, and Iwaizumi could definitely see why Bokuto relied on him so much. He came through when you really needed him to.

“They also pumped you full of painkiller,” Kuroo mentioned with more enthusiasm than he should have.

"It looked really bad, but it turned out to only be a linear fracture," Yahaba added, then continued on when Iwaizumi frowned. "It's a major head injury, but the least dangerous one, if you know what I mean."

"It'll heal up by itself in a couple of months," Akaashi said.

"A couple of months?! I can't wait that damn long," Iwaizumi hissed out in frustration, then Kuroo shook his head.

"Nah. Doc said you'd be out in a couple of days, if all went ok."

Iwaizumi breathed a sigh of relief. If at all, he’d prefer not to miss any days of work, but he suspected that he got away lightly this time. He’d call them up later and let them know he couldn’t come in. Although...Iwaizumi anxiously chewed his lower lip, thinking of his wrecked apartment on top of the now-doubled hospital fees. How was he going to manage this? Extra shifts at the factory, perhaps? If he could get them.

“Hello? Earth to Iwaizumi, you were asked a fucking question.”

“What?”

Iwaizumi tuned back in to see Kuroo staring at him pointedly.

“Well?” he prompted. “Are you going to answer Yahaba?”

“Oh, yeah.” Iwaizumi blinked, recalling the question. “I got hit on the head.”

Kuroo rolled his eyes. “We know that much.”

“Exactly how did this happen? Your apartment was trashed, too. Did robbers break in?”

“I bet he tried to fight them,” Kuroo deadpanned. “Stop fighting everyone, Iwaizumi.”

“I didn’t fight anyone. Look, I just came home and my door was forced open with a crowbar, I went inside and I saw this guy spray painting fag or something on my wall. So I grabbed him-”

“That’s fighting someone.”

“Kuroo-san, shut up and let him finish.”

“-and before I could ‘fight him’, someone else that I didn’t see hit me over the head with something. I passed out, woke up and called up, then ended up here. Happy?”

“Any reason for the attack?” Akaashi asked thoughtfully.

Iwaizumi fell quiet for a moment, thinking. “I do have an idea,” he admitted. “Before I went to the bar, some asshole bumped into me and started getting in my face.”

Kyoutani glanced up, then his eyes darted away again. Sighing, Yahaba elbowed him in the ribs, hissing out, “just ask him already.”

When Kyoutani made no move, Yahaba sighed again, deeper this time.

“Kyoutani wants to know if this happened because he punched that one guy in the nose.”

Kuroo let out a low whistle. “Damn, when did this happen? I miss all the good stuff.”

“The day after I brought Oikawa in,” Iwaizumi answered, then held Kyoutani’s gaze and smiled gently, shaking his head. “I’m glad you punched him. It showed that you weren’t to be messed with, and I doubt that he would’ve done this because of only that. I’ve punched him many times before myself, but right then I wasn’t in the condition to fight. So thanks, Kyoutani.”

A lovely light shade of pinkish-red engulfed Kyoutani’s cheeks as he nodded seriously, pleased but bashful. He pressed ever so slightly closer to Yahaba’s shoulder, leading Iwaizumi to frown.

"Why were you at Kyoutani's, Yahaba? I thought you had a family arrangement?"

"A family arrangement fucking Kyoutani, from the looks of it," Kuroo drawled out.

"We were watching a movie, actually," Yahaba sniffed, combining his glare with Kyoutani's to stare down Kuroo.

"While making out," Kyoutani mumbled, ears darkening to a glorious red.

"I thought your tv was broken," Iwaizumi wondered aloud.

"I fixed it," Yahaba announced proudly. "I know a thing or two about electronics."

"I never thought you two would get together," Iwaizumi said. "You always seemed to be at each other."

"They always left together recently," Akaashi pointed out.

"Did you miss the part where Yahaba slammed Kyoutani against the wall? That was awesome. Sorry, Kyo-kun," Kuroo added on, winking in response to Kyoutani's embarrassed glowering. Iwaizumi shook his head, still not believing that he missed that.

"Is everyone who plays volleyball gay?"

"I dunno. Must be something about receiving balls all the time."

Kuroo grinned wickedly, obviously proud of himself for thinking that one up.

"I think Tanaka is straight," Yahaba mentioned. "Everyone else....well....."

"Hmm. Kunimi, perhaps?" Kuroo threw out thoughtfully.

"Psh, nah," Yahaba dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "I made out with him in the hallway once in first year." In response to Kyoutani's look, Yahaba ran an arm around his shoulders affectionately. "This was before you, babe."

Kuroo rolled his eyes dramatically, sticking a finger down his throat. "Ew."

"Don't pretend you wouldn't like to do the same thing to Kenma," Akaashi said, then swiftly moved on before Kuroo could get defensive. "Iwaizumi-san, you said you had an idea of why you were attacked."

Iwaizumi nodded. "Yeah."

"Care to tell us?"

"I don't know," Iwaizumi sighed out. "I know some people have always wanted me out of there because I'm not like them, and I think helping Oikawa out and taking him in was the reason they needed to act upon making me leave. Hana spread some rumours around, and now I'm being called fag, and they're just getting in my face a lot more."

"So they think you fucked Oikawa?"

"Yeah."

"And did you?"

"No, Kuroo, I didn’t."

“Do they think Oikawa’s a gigolo?”

“That usually implies female customers,Kuroo-san.”

“Hell, Akaashi, I don’t have a knowledge of what to properly call male prostitutes!”

“I don’t know,” Iwaizumi replied in answer to Kuroo’s query. “I don’t think it matters.”

“He could be one,” Yahaba put out there. “He would make quite a lot of profit.”

Kyoutani bumped Yahaba’s shoulder and muttered something Iwaizumi didn’t quite pick up, but it put a delighted smile on Yahaba’s lips.

“Do I want to know what he said?” Kuroo slurred out, feigning disinterest that nobody in the room bought.

“He said that I’d be a very successful hustler too,” Yahaba announced, still with a massive grin that screamed “I knew it all along.”

“Is hustler another name for it?”

“Yup.”

“How do all of you know these things?!”

“How do you not?” Akaashi questioned. “It’s basic knowledge.”

“I’m going out to Bokuto. I have saner conversations with him,” Kuroo proclaimed, lifting himself up out of the chair.

“Bokuto’s here?” Iwaizumi asked in surprise. “Why’s he out there?”

"You know that Bokuto-san can give people headaches at times, and considering your condition I decided not risk it."

"Let him in already. Iwaizumi's fine,” Kuroo interjected.

"It's grand," Iwaizumi told him. "Since my head’s not throbbing too badly, the painkillers must be working."

Akaashi nodded. "Alright. Let's hope he isn't too depressed."

He exited the room swiftly, and Iwaizumi could hear hushed whispering outside.

“Looks like he is,” Kuroo stated grimly, trying to snatch a fly out of the air. “Might take a while to talk him back in.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate Akaashi’s abilities,” Yahaba said. “I’ve seen him single-handedly make Bokuto stop crying within a minute to laughing aloud. It’s fascinating to watch.”

“Where’s my clothes?” Iwaizumi asked abruptly, his mind having wandered off the subject of Bokuto’s mood entirely.

“Oh, over there.” Kuroo pointed lazily, over to the corner where a black bin bag sat.

“Who changed me into the hospital gown?”

“The nurses, of course.” Kuroo rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, none of us saw your junk.”

“I don’t care about that,” Iwaizumi responded. “You’ve all seen it a million times in the locker rooms.”

Kuroo began snickering under his breath. “Very true It’s hard to miss.”

“Says the one who claims he’s straight,” Yahaba commented haughtily, earning him a half-hearted glare from Kuroo.

“I think he’s getting there,” Kyoutani slipped in. “He’s denying it less.”

“I am still as in denial as ever, excuse you,” Kuroo cut in, irritated.

Yahaba gave him an utterly confused look, holding his hands up in bemusement. “If you’re admitting you’re in denial, how can you be in denial?”

“I wouldn’t question the logic of Kuroo’s sexuality if I were you,” Iwaizumi inputted, amused.

“See? Hedgehog-kun gets it.”

Iwaizumi was in the process of telling off Kyoutani for snickering and Yahaba for laughing out loud-it wasn’t his fault his hair just _wouldn’t_ stay down, no matter what he did-when the bag in the corner buzzed. To be precise, it wasn’t the bag that was vibrating, it was something in it. More than likely Iwaizumi’s phone.  

“I’ll get it,” Kuroo said, lethargically reaching out from his chair for the bag. When that didn’t work, he shifted around in the chair and outstretched his legs fully, catching the plastic between his shoes firmly. When he pulled it in and started rifling through it, he finally noticed everyone looking at him. “What? I was comfortable.”

“I guess it’s inventive,” Yahaba commented, his expression one of resignation.

Kuroo held up Iwaizumi’s phone in triumph, glancing down at the screen.

“Who’s the perfect one?”

“ Oikawa,” Iwaizumi answered as Kuroo tossed it onto his bed. “ I should’ve guessed it was him. Most of the people who text me are here already.”

“That’s sad,” Kuroo judged bluntly.

“You know what’s sad? Being too stubborn to admit to yourself that you’re at least partly gay,” Yahaba announced loudly, cocking a hand on his hip, a gesture he’d picked up from Matsukawa.

Kuroo let out a low whistle. “Brutal, pretty boy. I’m hurt, real deep. Right here.” He placed a hand over his chest, but was unable to keep the serious expression on his features before a sly grin broke through. “I was just teasing, mate. No need to get defensive.”

Iwaizumi pretty much tuned out of their discussion as he read through Oikawa’s messages, the latest being:

 

 **the perfect one** : ok so you don’t have to reply rn to the earlier ones but just let me know you’re alive pls

 

Iwaizumi typed out a reply, straight to the point.

 

 **iwa-chan:** Sorry, I ended up in hospital. I’m able to text now, though.

And aliens wouldn’t necessarily have big heads if their brains were better able to process information. Who says they have minds like us at all?

 

As soon as he read the text, Oikawa bolted upright from his lazy position in alarm, the words of the actors on the screen going unheard. Iwaizumi ended up in hospital? He wouldn’t have phrased it like that if he was just visiting his mother, right? In that case, what happened?

 

 **the perfect one:** hospital??? why???

 

 **iwa-chan:** Ah, just got hit on the head. It’s not a big deal.

 

Oikawa was already throwing on his clothes by the time Iwaizumi replied, rolling his eyes at the casual text. He was in hospital, it had to be a big deal. Oikawa knew Iwaizumi wasn’t the type to blow a minor injury out of proportion-that was shown by how he’d handled a big ass cut across his torso-and frankly, he was a little worried. Since it didn’t seem like he was going to tell him any more over text, and the fact that Oikawa had nothing to do today, visiting him was an excellent idea.

 

 **the perfect one:** which ward are you in i must bless you with my presence

 

 **iwa-chan:** Hold up, let me check.

Unit 2, Room D8.

 

Oikawa didn't waste any time after that in calling Matsukawa.

"Mattsun, you got your fixed car from the garage this morning, right?"

"If this is going the way I think it's going then no, I didn't."

"He's lying," came Makki's distant voice. Oikawa rolled his eyes, despite neither of them being to appreciate the gesture. "Brilliant observation, Makki, but anyway, wanna drop me over to the hospital?"

"No."

"Great! I'll be there in five minutes," Oikawa chirped, then immediately hung up. He’d bribe him somehow, most likely with food. He could buy them both breakfast on the way, and then he’d be happy. Bless his friends and their simple needs.

\-------------

Fifteen minutes later, Oikawa breezed into the room without a second thought, not expecting five people to already be there. Funnily enough,he knew all of them already, if only from a brief encounter.

“Oh, my, Iwa-chan, I didn’t know you had this many friends,” slipped past his lips before he could stop it.

“Oh look, he’s still an asshole,” Kuroo observed sharply.

“Did you expect any different?” Iwaizumi deadpanned.

“Ooh, Yahaba-kun! I didn’t expect to see you here!” Oikawa declared cheerfully, bypassing Kuroo completely to offer his hand to Yahaba, who had on the most neutral expression possible.

“Nice to see you too, Oikawa-senpai.”

He dropped his hand as quickly as possible.

“I trust you did a good job filling my shoes as Aoba Johsai’s official setter,” Oikawa said, suddenly serious.

A spark of pride showed in Yahaba’s gaze, and he lifted his chin up more.

“I did my best, Oikawa-senpai. In my third year, we won against Shiratorizawa, but fell to Karasuno.”

“His best is very good,” Kyoutani put out there. “He sets for me during practice.”

“Ooh, so you train with Iwa-chan too? Funny how we all know each other already, isn’t it?”

“I never saw you in my life before Iwaizumi introduced us ,” Kuroo said. “But apparently my luck ran out.”

“Neither did I , but I did know of you!” Bokuto offered helpfully.

“It’s not that surprising that we train together,” Iwaizumi realised clearly. “You go to one of the most famous universities for volleyball in Tokyo, and I practice in one of the best, too. Since we’re all volleyball enthusiasts, it makes sense.”

“Can’t you just pass it off as a wonderful coincidence?” Oikawa complained, nodding and smiling at Bokuto and Akaashi.  

“No. Why are you here, anyway?”

“So I can check up on my wonderful past kouhai, of course!”

“You didn’t even know he was here until you arrived.”

“Okay, okay,” Oikawa admitted with an easy, fake smile, holding up his hands in surrender. “You got me. My wifi’s down and I needed to check my instagram, so I’m using the hospital one. Genius, right?”

“Apart from the fact that it’s slow as fuck,” Kuroo added in. “Why didn’t you just go to a friend’s house, anyway?”

Oikawa turned to him, slotting a hand onto his hip. “Didn’t I tell you not to talk to me until you sorted your disastrous hair out?”

“Isn’t your hair looking a little disastrous today?” Kuroo retorted back.

Oikawa huffed, lifting a hand self-consciously to his hair. “It isn’t my fault it’s a little untidy. I wasn’t expecting my wifi to die. In any case, it still looks better than yours.”

“Both of you have awful bedheads, get over it,” Iwaizumi broke in, sighing. “Can we move on?”

“Speaking of moving on…”Oikawa spun around again to face Iwaizumi, gesturing flamboyantly to his bed. “How did you get into this state? Your hair looks even more unbrushed than one-eye’s over there.”

“Yeah! What did happen? I wasn’t here when you told the rest,” Bokuto chipped in, pouting unhappily. “I wanna knoooow too.”

“Patience,” Akaashi told him softly. “I gave you a quick account outside, remember?”

“But I want to hear it from him! It’ll be different with the man himself recounting it dramatically!”

Akaashi raised an eyebrow. “Dramatically? Do you know the same Iwaizumi-san as I do, Bokuto-san?”

“Look, it’s not a big thing,” Iwaizumi tried to settle down Bokuto and Oikawa by shrugging. “Someone broke into my apartment, they were still there when I got home, and they-he-belted me over the head with something.”

“Fire extinguisher,” Kyoutani clarified. “It was lying nearby.”

“Bastard,” Iwaizumi muttered under his breath.

"Well, they don't call that area Stab City for nothing."

Kuroo’s contribution.

"He didn't get stabbed. He got smacked over the head with a fire extinguisher,” Yahaba corrected him.

"Alright, so what? He got...fire-extinguished."

“What do you call someone who’s been hit over the head with a fire extinguisher?”

Bokuto’s eyebrows were lowering in the way that Iwaizumi recognised as his thoughtful face, but usually it wasn’t exactly the most important things he was pondering about. Akaashi apparently noticed it too, as he sighed quietly under his breath. Kuroo, on the other hand, got an identical expression to Bokuto’s arranged on his features.

“I dunno. You call someone who’s been impaled by a knife stabbed, so…”

“How does that make sense? Wouldn’t it be knifed?”

“You can use that word too, yes.”

“I don’t think there’s a word for the action of hitting somebody with a fire extinguisher, Bokuto-san.”

Akaashi’s futile attempt to calm them down. Oikawa was simply standing there with a look halfway between a smirk and confusion, opting not to fuel the fire for once.

“There has to be!” Bokuto argued.

"We can invent one," Kuroo exclaimed. "Combining stab and fire extinguisher."

Bokuto instantly jumped on the bandwagon. Fuck that, he didn't his jump on it, he shoved his merry way to the front and started madly steering it with every ounce of enthusiasm in his body. Steered it straight off the edge of a cliff.

"Extab!"

"Staire....no, shit that sounds too close to stairs..."

"Guistab!"

"How about stabuisher?"

"Ooohhh, that sounds like a good one!"

Oikawa's gaze drifted sideways to meet Iwaizumi's, arching up a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"Is this normal?"

"You're not one to talk," Iwaizumi remarked. "You're the one convinced that aliens would have big heads."

"Hey, they-"

"Please," Yahaba interrupted them, with a long-suffering groan. "One Bokuto and Kuroo is more than enough."

Akaashi closed his eyes briefly, his expression almost scarily blank as he mentally ran through all his options to deal with Bokuto, hundreds in a mere matter of seconds. Yahaba nudged Kyoutani, whispering, "it's coming," quietly.

"Bokuto-san, are you hungry by any chance?"

Bokuto immediately shut off his conversation with Kuroo and turned to face Akaashi, adoration in his large eyes.

"Can we get udon noodles, pleeeeeeeeeaase?"

"Yes."

"Whoo!" Bokuto threw his arms up into the air in celebration, grinning down at Kuroo. "Wanna come?"

"Always dff, bro."

"Down to fuck?"

"Down for food. There's an f there, instead of a t."

"Wait...why is there an an before f? Why do you have to say "an f" instead of "a f?"

"Leave the mindfuck grammar questions for later, after food."

"Alright. We'd better get moving. Iwaizumi-san, it's good to know that you're okay."

"Visit you soon!"

Kuroo grinned and mock-blew a kiss to Iwaizumi. "See ya later, babe. Love ya."

"See you," Iwaizumi answered, waving after him.

Yahana cleared his throat and stepped up closer to Iwaizumi's bedside, beside Oikawa. "It's great to see you okay and it was lovely to see Oikawa-senpai again, but we've got a movie to finish and several hours of sleep to catch up on."

“Mm, you do look like you need some more beauty sleep, Yahaba,” Oikawa slotted in slyly.

“Kyoutani,” Yahaba demanded, provoked. “Who’s more beautiful, me or Oikawa-senpai?”

Kyoutani, without a moment’s hesitation, pointed straight at Iwaizumi. Yahaba’s face dropped instantly, forming a perfect mask of offence.

“Hey, he wasn’t even part of the choice!” Oikawa protested, his own expression mirroring Yahaba’s.

Iwaizumi chuckled and extended his hand to high five Kyoutani, who did with a small, pleased smile. "Nice, Kyoutani. I wouldn't want to feed either of their egos any more."

"Hmph! I showed Yahaba how to properly style his hair, too. I deserve more credit," Oikawa huffed out.

Kyoutani, at that moment, let out a massive yawn, sharp canines evident under the bright fluorescent lighting.

"Wait... you two missed out on sleep?" Iwaizumi questioned, confused.

"Yeah, we waited here until you woke up. Well, it was mostly Kyoutani and I. Akaashi was too busy trying to sober up Bokuto and Kuroo, who passed out on the floor several times. It was a wild night."

Kyoutani backed up his words with a single, solemn nod. "He tried to hit on a nurse, then we reminded him that he's in denial."

"Then he tried to hit on a male nurse instead, until we reminded him of Kenma," Yahaba sighed out. "He's hopeless." Oikawa frowned haughtily, looking over at Iwaizumi judgmentally.

"Iwa-chan, I'm seriously questioning your choice of friends right now."

"Didn't your friends make out while walking for four minutes straight?"

"Four minutes and twenty two seconds, excuse you."

"How did they not bump into anything?"

"I guided them of course, because I'm a good friend!"

Iwaizumi was so focused on Oikawa that he didn't notice Yahaba and Kyoutani drifting over to the door before they were right beside it.

"See you, Iwaizumi!"

"Take care," Kyoutani wished him.

Once they were gone, Iwaizumi looked at Oikawa and waited.

"What?" Oikawa blinked. "I know I'm extremely good looking, but, please. I need some space sometimes."

"Aren't you going to make an excuse and leave? I get it, nobody wants to hang around in a hospital all day."

"Weren't you listening, Iwa-chan? I need the wifi here, and I still haven't checked my insta! I couldn't leave now."

"That thing about your wifi being down is the worst lie ever."

"Nope! Complete truth, I've just been using my data for weeks now."

"Wait, so why are you really here?"

"I don't have anywhere else to be, so babysitting an invalid for the day doesn't sound too bad."

"It does for me."

"I forgive for that comment, because I know your head's fucked up."

"Nope, would've said the same thing anyway."

Oikawa sat on the edge of the bed, pouting. "You're so horrible to me, Iwa-chan."

Before Hajime could answer, the doorknob rattled and a doctor walked in, smiling brightly. "So, I heard you're awake."

"You heard correctly," Iwaizumi replied.

It turned out that he was just here for the routine check up that happened every hour, and to chat about his injury. Luckily, it seemed that Iwaizumi would be back on his feet in a day or two, although he couldn't leave until they were absolutely sure nothing else but his skull and the skin were damaged. Iwaizumi was disappointed that he couldn't go back to work sooner, but considering the attack, he reckoned he was lucky to get away with a couple of days. A depression in the skull could've been life-threatening, the doctor said.

"Well," Oikawa started cheerfully as the doctor walked out again. "You should thank that thick skull of yours!"

"I bet if I hit you with that chair over there, it would bounce right off of your head."

"Don't! It'll mess up my hair!"

"I don't give a crap about your hair, Oikawa."

Oikawa, strangely enough, ended up staying the entire day, right through all the visiting hours. Iwaizumi didn't know how, and he definitely didn't know why. All he knew was that Oikawa had a certain way of gelling to him, and that Oikawa, despite his somewhat conceited and shitty personality, was great company. Even if they were both on their phones, just idly passing comments and opinions about something they just saw online. Iwaizumi couldn't recall a day past high school when he simply laid back, hung out with a friend or two and laughed. Every meeting was usually hurried and rushed, with Iwaizumi constantly fretting over if he was going to make it to work on time. Relaxing and letting his sense of time go was unheard of for years. Oh man, he'd missed it. Being carefree and easygoing, not always thinking and stressing about bills-although those did lurk on his mind, they never quite disappeared completely. Other than that, and the occasional pangs of pain, he was at ease.

"There better be a Costa nearby here," Oikawa complained, as if he already knew there wasn't. He probably did.

"I don't think so. What's wrong with the coffee out of the machine thing?"

"Are you kidding me? You think those machine things know how to whip up an extra spiced cinnamon caramel iced latte?"

"A what now?"

"Iwa-chan, don't tell me you've never tried Costa coffee."

"Nope."

Oikawa had been so outraged that poor Mattsun had been bribed once again into running Oikawa down to the nearest Costa. Iwaizumi hated to admit it, but without Oikawa or anyone else the room felt lonely. He was glad when Oikawa returned, two only slightly cold cups in hand.

"Here! Try it, and thank me now, because it's delicious."

Iwaizumi, accepting the cup gingerly, took a cautious sip and almost spat it out.

"Is this just liquid sugar?!"

"Probably, but isn't it amazing?"

"No, it's not."

Oikawa insisted on finishing Iwaizumi’s coffee-it was so sweet Iwaizumi didn’t think it could even be classed as coffee any more- complaining about his weird taste buds the entire time.

“Do you think,” Oikawa started later, so thoughtfully Iwaizumi narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “That if I said I’m your brother, I could stay longer?”

Iwaizumi took a moment to stare at him, then deliberately at his own, very tanned arm, and then back to Oikawa’s pale skin, so white he almost glowed.

“Somehow, I doubt it,” Iwaizumi deadpanned. “Plus, the staff in here know me for years. That’s the only reason so many people were allowed into my room earlier. They’re already stretching the rules.”

“We could have different fathers!” Oikawa suggested cheerfully, telling Iwaizumi that he ignored everything else. “Yours could be Brazilian and mine could be Irish!”

“I know there’s a diversity of different nationalities in Tokyo, but that’s just a little far-fetched.”

Oikawa pouted, squirming around at the foot of the bed before finally settling into a cross-legged position. “Far-fetched doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“The staff here know I don’t have a brother.”

“Easy! I was kidnapped as a baby and raised-”

“Jesus, Oikawa, no. We’re not saying you’re my brother.”

Oikawa looked so crestfallen that Iwaizumi had to forcefully bite back an apology, or it could turn into a real thing. He had a feeling Oikawa would do it without hesitation.

“Look,” Iwaizumi began briskly. “Just come over tomorrow, alright? It isn’t a big deal.”

Oikawa brightened up instantly, his chin lifting up so rapidly that his hair did that little bouncy thing again. It always fascinated Iwaizumi, how it just...wobbled in place like it was full of hairspray, but at the same time looked so soft.

“So you want me here tomorrow? I’ll be there, then! I don’t get up before one, but I’ll be there shortly afterwards!”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

The door clicked open, and Yachi popped her head into the room, waving amiably.

“Hi, Iwaizumi-san! And….you’re the guy from the garage that one day.”

Oikawa paled, remembering that unfortunate incident.

“Em, yes,” Oikawa said, covering his discomfort with an easy smile, outstretching his hand. “Oikawa Tooru. Delighted to meet you, beautiful.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes as Yachi went red, shaking Oikawa’s hand tentatively.

“N-nice to meet you too, Oikawa-san. I’m Yachi Hitoka. I just came in here to let you know that you need to be heading home soon. Visiting hours are nearly over, so....you know….”

“Of course!” Oikawa winked, gracefully unfolding his long legs and swinging them over the side of the bed. “I can’t give you any trouble, can I? You’re too cute.”

Yachi’s blush darkened to a deep crimson, raising her palms up and shaking her head vigorously. “Thanks, Oikawa-san, but you know I-I have…”

“Oikawa, stop it. Kiyoko isn’t as soft and sweet as her. Please don’t tell her I said that,” Iwaizumi added, looking over at Yachi, who shook her head again.

“Don’t worry, Iwaizumi-san. She knows she has to be hard to deal with all the men who hit on her.”

“Surely more men hit on you-”

“Shut up, Oikawa.” Iwaizumi smiled sympathetically. “Must be tough on you.”

“No, no, not at all! She shuts them down quickly,” Yachi explained, beaming her trademark, adorable smile.

“Anyway, Oikawa, don’t you have to be leaving?”

Oikawa, his expression one of a child that’s been denied a cookie before dinner, crossed his arms over his chest. “With pleasure, mean Iwa-chan.”

With that, he flaunted out of the room, brown strands flitting up and down the back of his neck as he walked. Yachi looked at Iwaizumi, confused.

“Where did you come across him?”

“Please don’t ask that question,” Iwaizumi said blankly as Yachi started doing some routine check-ups on him.

Yachi giggled, reading his blood pressure and jotting it down quickly. “It seems like you two are good friends, though.”

“I suppose,” Iwaizumi shrugged. “He’s an odd one.”

“Everyone’s an odd one when you get to know them, Iwaizumi-san!”

After a few minutes, Yachi was satisfied with the data gathered from his vital signs and left with a cheerful, “Goodnight! I’ll be back tomorrow, Iwaizumi-san!”

Raising his hand to wave goodbye, Iwaizumi settled back against the pillows. Lowering his hand, he turned his head to the side and realised that Oikawa had abandoned the two coffee containers he’d had earlier on his bedside table.

Asshole. Couldn’t even take his own trash out.

\------

The next morning, Hajime was idly flicking through a newspaper when a knock sounded throughout the room.

“Come in,” he called out, throwing a glance at the clock with a frown. Too early to be Oikawa….

"Hello, Iwaizumi-san!"

Having to duck slightly to get through the doorway, Kindaichi waved as he set down a bag at the foot of Iwaizumi's bed.

"Hi, Kindaichi. How are you?"

"I should really be asking you that. I'm good, how are you doing?"

"Feeling better," Iwaizumi answered honestly. "What's in the bag?"

"Ah, well, I thought you might be bored here, so I brought you something."

Kindaichi reached into the bag and produced a green PSP, nervously hopping it from one hand to the other. "There's some games too..."

"You didn't buy that, did you?!"

"No, it's my own one."

"Won't you miss it?"

"I can always borrow Kunimi's, but I doubt I will. I haven't touched it in months. Here." Kindaichi held out the bag, and Iwaizumi accepted it in some shocked thankfulness.

"Thanks....Kindaichi, I don't know what to say. It's really thoughtful of you."

Kindaichi flushed, one hand rising to scratch down the side of his chin as his eyes ghosted off to the side.

"It's really no trouble. As I've said, I haven't touched it in months."

Iwaizumi spread out the games on his lap, easing himself up into a sitting position. "Damn, I haven't seen some of these since high school."

"I have more at home, if you ever want to borrow them," Kindaichi piped up.

"Thanks, but I broke my old one long ago. I'd have to buy a new one," Iwaizumi hummed out, scanning down the back of one game. "Again, thank you. Hopefully Oikawa leaves me alone long enough to actually play them."

The colour faded from Kindaichi's face as quickly as it had appeared.

"Oikawa-san visited you?"

"More like lives here," Iwaizumi deadpanned. "The only reason he isn't here already that he's too lazy to get out of bed early."

"It's one o'clock...."

"Yup. Still too early."

Kindaichi shook his head in bemusement, long hair draped over his ears swaying slightly. "In high school, he was always the first to morning practice, and the last to leave. I can't believe he's changed so much."

“Mm, I didn’t know him before, so I wouldn’t know. But people change a lot in their early twenties, Kindaichi, so I’m assuming that’s what happened to him. That and his knee, of course.”

Kindaichi nodded somberly, one hand raising to the back of his neck. Courage, Kindaichi, courage.

“Iwaizumi-san….”

Iwaizumi glanced up curiously, slightly worried about Kindaichi’s overly serious tone of voice.

“Something wrong?”

“No, not at all, it’s just there’s something I’d like to talk to you about….I mean, you might've noticed it by now, and maybe not, but still, I’d like to..inform you, I guess is the word.”

“Kindaichi. Say what you want to say clearly.”

Iwaizumi was frowning, but he had an idea what it was about. If Kuroo and Oikawa were right...he needed to plan how to approach this correctly, without hurting Kindaichi. Still, it was better to shut it down now than give him false hope. Swallowing to strengthen his resolve, Iwaizumi nodded firmly, encouraging Kindaichi along.

“Iwaizumi-san-”

Kindaichi’s mouth opened, a fiery, consuming blush flaring up all over his face. Nope. There was no humanly possible way he could do this. Iwaizumi was gazing at him so softly and tenderly, almost pityingly, and Kindaichi couldn't stand that. He couldn’t stand to see the expression on Iwaizumi’s face when he told him.

“I wanted to let you know that I’ll be throwing you a party at the bar for your birthday next week! It was supposed to be a surprise, but I thought you’d like it if you knew beforehand, so you could prepare and stuff.”

Iwaizumi blinked.

“What?”

“What? Who’s getting rejected?” Oikawa asked merrily, the door swinging in casually.

Kindaichi started, suddenly very glad he didn’t confess to Iwaizumi. Oikawa would’ve walked right in on it.

“Hello, Oikawa-san.”

"Piss off, Oikawa.”

"My, my, so touchy. Getting protective, are we?" Oikawa dumped himself on the side of the bed, so comfortable with Iwaizumi that Kindaichi felt a sharp splint of envy erupt in his chest. Oikawa had to have everything good to himself, didn’t he?

“Ooh, a PSP! I haven’t seen one of these in forever? Where did you get this, Kin-kun? The antique store?”

“Oikawa, don’t be rude.”

“I’m not rude! Kin-kun here knows I’m only teasing, okay?” Oikawa started shuffling through the games, oohing and ahhing or frowning. “You’ve quite a mixed taste in games. Some of these are fantastic, and some are awful. I thought I coached you better than this.”

“You coached me in volleyball, Oikawa-san. We never once discussed PSP games,” Kindaichi pointed out, ruffling the hair at the back of his head awkwardly.

“Excuses, excuses,” Oikawa tutted, sorting the cases into two piles. “Horrible, atrocious, good, great, horrendous, brilliant...There! Iwa-chan, play those ones.” He pointed to the pile on the right. “Don’t bother with the rest.”

“Thanks again, Kindaichi,” Iwaizumi announced, outstretching his hands to gather up all the games, completely messing up Oikawa’s tidy bundles. “I’ll make sure to check all of them out.”

He aimed a specific look at Oikawa when he said that, who turned his face away in a sulk.

“I was only trying to help out, and this is the thanks I get?”

“You weren’t helping out. You were shitting on Kindaichi’s taste in video games-”

“Iwaizumi-san, it’s okay. Really, I know that some of those aren’t the best,” Kindaichi swooped in diplomatically, taking a step towards the door. “It’s been great seeing you, Iwaizumi-san, but  I need to be going. I’m meeting up with Kunimi for lunch.”

Oikawa raised both his eyebrows suggestively, a sly smile on his face. Both Kindaichi and Iwaizumi ignored him.

“Alright. Tell him hello for me, would you?”

“I will. Goodbye, Iwaizumi-san. Goodbye, Oikawa-san.”

“See you around!” Oikawa waved after him merrily as Iwaizumi simply nodded his farewell greeting. “Take care.”

“I will,” Kindaichi promised as he disappeared out the door.

As soon as it clicked shut, Oikawa rotated back to Iwaizumi, gazing at all the games on top of his sheets.

“It was good of him to give you all this, wasn’t it? Even if you are just borrowing them.”

“Why didn’t you say that when he was here instead of judging his games?” Iwaizumi asked straight out, bemusement mingled with annoyance evident in his tone.

“I didn’t want to embarrass him, obviously! But you’ll find that everything I said was true-some of those are absolute crap.”

Iwaizumi just hummed thoughtfully, thinking back to the conversation he had with Kindaichi earlier while he packed the games back away into the bag.

“Oikawa, you said you had fangirls, right? How did you deal with rejecting girls back in high school?”

Oikawa’s expression changed utterly, to a knowing smirk as he leaned in devilishly close to Iwaizumi.

“Why do you need to know, Iwa-chan?”

“You know why.”

Oikawa leaned back again, but chose to pull his legs in underneath him, perched at the side of Iwaizumi’s bed as he grinned mischievously. “You think Kindaichi’s close to making a move on you? I’m surprised you picked that much up.”

“Not exactly...earlier, I think he was about to confess to me,” Iwaizumi explained, grimacing. “He changed it at the last minute, but I think he’ll eventually go through with it. And when that happens, I have to let him down gently.”

Oikawa shook his head with a deep sigh, absently working out a knot in his fringe.

"You take relationships too seriously, Iwa-chan. "

"I take people's feelings seriously. You might say that I'm not good at picking up on them, but that doesn't mean I intentionally ignore or hurt them."

Oikawa couldn’t really say anything to that. His lips slid out into a pout, suddenly feeling bad for all the people-boys were definitely in the mix too, although not as open, being openly gay was dangerous-who’d told him how they felt about him. He’d consoled himself by telling  himself that they only thought they liked him. They only liked the public side of him, so they didn’t have any true depth to their feelings, and therefore Oikawa was saving them a whole lot of hassle. With Iwaizumi, though, it was different. Iwaizumi was straightforward. He didn’t have any different sides to him. What you saw was exactly what you got, and Kindaichi liked that.

“You can’t reject him without hurting his feelings,” Oikawa said, chewing on his lower lip.

“I know that much.”

Iwaizumi heaved a sigh, propping the pillow up behind his back to sit up straighter. Oikawa joined in with his sighing, stretching out on the bed so his head was resting on his elbow, seated at the foot of the bed with his feet up beside Iwaizumi’s waist.

“It’s a difficult one, Iwa-chan. You have to see him regularly, and it’s not his fault that you don’t like him back.”

“Tell me about it,” Iwaizumi groaned, tilting his head up towards the ceiling. “I never thought it would reach this point. I always thought Kuroo was just fucking around.”

“But then I started saying the same thing too?” Oikawa grinned wickedly.

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Oikawa glanced over at Iwaizumi, and frowned. Was that a thin trail of blood dripping out onto his upper lip? Rolling off the bed, Oikawa straightened up, halting after just a stride to examine Iwaizumi’s face closer. Yeah, definitely blood.

"There's blood running out of your nose, it's really gross," Oikawa said, rifling briefly in his pocket and offering him several tissues.

"Thanks." Iwaizumi took one, dabbing at his upper lip.

"That isn't going to do anything!"

"Wha-"

"This is how you stop nose bleeds!"

Before he could protest, Oikawa was leaning over Iwaizumi, twisting a tissue deftly in his hands. Iwaizumi saw where this was going. "Oikawa, let me do it myself at least."

"No. You won't do it right," Oikawa answered stubbornly, one hand rising to grip Iwaizumi's chin and tilt his head up towards him.

“When was the last time you shaved? You’ve got stubble all over your chin,” Oikawa observed, shifting closer to Iwaizumi so he wasn’t as bent over as much.

“I don’t really know. Two days, maybe?”

“God, I wish I could grow a beard.”

Iwaizumi imagined Oikawa with a beard and a bubble of laughter erupted from his chest, making Oikawa frown. “Hey, it wasn’t that funny! Stop laughing, it’s making your nose bleed more.”

“Alright, alright.”

Oikawa fell silent, concentrating on the task at hand. He was close, so close to Iwaizumi’s face that he began noticing every flicker of Oikawa’s eyelashes, every shift of his pretty lips.

His brown eyes were fixated on Iwaizumi’s nose, and Iwaizumi was steadily gazing into his eyes. Brown eyes that had flecks of bright gold around the centre with random dots of mossy green speckled around the ring of the iris. Beautiful, Iwaizumi thought, then realised what he’d just thought, and jerked his gaze away, a light pink dusting the tips of his ears.

"Hold still."

"I am holding still."

Iwaizumi's lips curled as the tissue was gently inserted up his nostril, a not very pleasant sensation. The thing is, as soon as he saw the tongue peeking out of the corner of Oikawa's shapely mouth he snorted.

"Hey! Don't do that, you'll ruin all my hard work!"

"I couldn't help it," Iwaizumi responded as Oikawa pulled away. "You looked so ridiculously focused."

"What's funny about me being focused?"

"You're only putting tissue up my nose. You didn't have to be so gentle about it, just shove it up there."

"Well, lucky I didn't let you do it then! If you do it too roughly, it could burst a blood vessel in your nose and it'll bleed even more."

“Doc said the bleeding should stop within forty eight hours, so I think I’m fine.”

“You won’t be fine if you treat your body badly,” Oikawa huffed out, laying down to assume his previous position.

“I do treat my body well-”

“Iwa-chan, you’re in hospital right now, you’ve also got a massive gash across your stomach and chest, and you say you treat your body well?”

“None of those injuries were my fault. And it’s not like I shove sugary shit masquerading as food into my body like you do.” Iwaizumi picked up the bag again and started pawing through it, laying the PSP console down beside him.

“It’s food! And ooh, are you playing? Play Kingdom Hearts! I’ll guide you through it,” Oikawa chirped, once again hopping off the bed only to hop right back on, this time hanging over Iwaizumi’s shoulder to look into the bag. “Then move onto Metal Gear Solid. They’re the best ones in there.”

“Hmm, okay,” Iwaizumi conceded, slotting it in. “Grab the charger, would you?”

Oikawa complained about it, but complied, and soon Hajime was cursing freely at the screen in his hands. Oikawa was set into fits of giggles as a nurse popped in her head to tell them to please quieten down, there were other patients in the hospital too. Several times-although he’ll never admit it-Oikawa almost fell off the edge of the bed, grabbing hastily onto Iwaizumi’s shoulder to keep his balance. Sometimes he offered helpful advice, and sometimes he told Iwaizumi stupid things to do and laughed his ass off when he actually did them, and failed hopelessly. At those times, Oikawa almost toppled off the bed because Iwaizumi was trying to shove him off.

“Aw, Iwa-chan, don’t be like that! It was only a joke!”

“I’m not listening to your advice any more.”

But, of course, he always ended up listening to him again, and eventually being tricked again. The visiting hours flew by, and before they knew it the petite blonde was bouncing into the room.

“Oikawa-san, you’re here again!”

“I simply couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see your adorable face again~” Oikawa smiled, winking at her charmingly.

Yachi stopped in her tracks, and rubbed the back of her neck, looking over to the corner of the room.

“Oikawa, stop making Yachi uncomfortable. It’s…” Iwaizumi trailed off, suddenly unwilling to point out the obvious.

“It’s time for you to go, Oikawa-san. You can come back tomorrow!”

Oikawa tumbled off of the bed, brushing all the creases out of his expertly put together outfit.

“I will be, with such pretty nurses! Iwa-chan, try not to die too many times without me.”

“I think I’ll do just fine without you.”

Oikawa threw a peace sign up as he strode to the door, tugging it open then halting.

“Don’t miss me too much!”

“Same goes for you, asshole.”

One last wave and Oikawa was gone, leaving Iwaizumi and Yachi alone in the room.

“It’s nice that you have company during the day,” Yachi chattered as she went about her daily routine.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi agreed, putting the PSP aside temporarily. “I’d really be bored without him.”

“Is he coming tomorrow too?” Yachi asked.

“I don’t know.” There was a pull in Hajime’s chest, a pull he didn’t quite recognise at first. Then he realised what it was. Uncertainty, mingled with disappointment.

“Do you think he will?”

Iwaizumi placed the bag down beside his bed, then raised his head and gazed at the spot Oikawa had occupied for hours.

“I sure as hell hope so.”

\------

"Are you looking for Hajime?"

Oikawa was confused for an instant as to why this ageing woman was asking him about somebody he didn't know, but then it clicked. Hajime was Iwa-chan's given name. This woman was close enough to him to use it?

"Yes, I am." Oikawa unfolded himself off the bed with a casual smile, reaching out his hand. "I'm his friend, Oikawa Tooru. Pleased to meet you."

"Oh, I've noticed. I sometimes drop into him after my shift has ended, and he talks about you quite a bit. It's lovely to finally meet you in person." Her eyes creased up into a warm smile as he shook Oikawa's hand, grip firm and slightly damp. "Thank you for keeping him company."

"It's no trouble at all."

"Between you and me, I never thought that Hajime made enough time for his friends. I think this hospital visit, in some ways, is a good thing for him. I'm glad he's spending time just relaxing and chatting. He's taken on so much at such a young age."

"By any chance, Ma'am, are you a relation of his? An aunt, perhaps?"

She chuckled, shaking her head merrily. "It might seem that way, since I ramble so much about him, but no. I've just known him for many years, and his mother before that. Call me Hiroka."

"Hiroka-san, it might be too bold to ask, but..."

"What is it? Spit it out or forever hold your peace."

"What...sort of condition is Iwa-chan's mother in? I knew she's in hospital for a long time, but nothing else."

She gave him a solemn smile, gently nudging his elbow. "Go see for yourself. They're in Room E3."

"Are you sure it's okay?" Oikawa asked worriedly. "It's personal to him, and-"

"It's okay," Hiroka said gently. "He talks of you with fondness in his eyes. Help him out if you can. He'll appreciate it."

Help him out with what? Oikawa wondered briefly, but then reckoned he'd find out soon enough.

"Okay, then," Oikawa chirped out, moving towards the door with more confidence than he felt. "Nice to meet you, Hiroka-san."

"Lovely talking to you, Oikawa! I'll see you around again, I'm sure!"

Oikawa offered her one last charming smile before pattering out the door into the hallway. Once he was out there, the smile dropped abruptly, nervousness overtaking his limbs, making him stride much more quickly than he wanted to towards E3. He was going to finally meet Iwa-chan's mom, and definitely not under the circumstances he imagined.

Within a few minutes, he stood, dawdling anxiously, outside the plain door with blurred windows marked clearly, E3. From the angle where he was standing, he could only see a sole chair, the end wall and the very foot of a bed. He didn't want Iwaizumi to see him out here until he came in. Oikawa reached for the door handle and stopped, hesitating with his breath suspended in his throat. What if Iwa-chan didn't want him in there? What if he got mad at him, so mad for invading his personal life that he told Oikawa never to contact him again, and there he goes once more, Oikawa Tooru, the pretty popular boy, has lost another friend.

_He talks of you with fondness in his eyes._

Hiroka's words surface softly in his mind, caressing his worries and easing them. Oikawa took a deep breath. If Iwaizumi asked him to leave, he'd leave instantly. Raising a hand, he cautiously knocked at the door.  After a few moments, Iwaizumi's low voice rumbled out of the room.

"Come in."

Sucking in a breath, Oikawa still couldn't quite press down fully on the handle. Maybe he was making too big a deal about this. It was a habit of his, blowing the small things out of proportion and not taking the major things seriously enough. No, no, that's not right. He did take the big things seriously. It just appeared like he didn't. So...what? Should he go in or not? Oikawa's hand lifted up, lightly hovering over the glinting steel. If he wanted Oikawa to know more about his family, Iwa-chan would have told him, right? He should go and let Iwa-chan tell him in his own time.

Oikawa almost shrieked when the door swung open.

"Oh, it's you. Why'd you knock and then just stand there?"

Releasing a breath, Oikawa gazed at Iwaizumi, who'd seemingly chosen to put on jeans under his hospital gown but not take it off. Apart from that, he looked the same as always, mild irritation arranged on his features, standing ever so slightly lower than Oikawa.

"Oikawa?"

"Oh, sorry! I was just thinking how beautiful I look today!" Oikawa covered up hastily, a hand combing back through his hair.

"Right, whatever." Iwaizumi gave him one look of I-don't-believe-that-for-an-instant before stepping aside, allowing Oikawa to pass into the room. In the centre of the it, a bed lay there with a motionless figure. What was odd about it that she was lying on top of her bedsheets, black hair, grey at the roots, strikingly displayed to almost halfway down her waist. She wore some of Iwaizumi's features Oikawa recognised, like his wide lips and razor-straight nose, along with what seemed to be the Iwaizumi family's default resting expression;annoyance.

Oikawa's stomach folded over itself as he entered, another hand quickly and anxiously threading through his bangs.

"Stop worrying, Oikawa. It's fine."

"I'm not worried!"

Oikawa's voice came out strangled and high-pitched, and not at all believable.

Where the hell did his natural lying ability go?

"You are. You're doing that hair thing again."

"What hair thing?" Oikawa asked innocently with both hands buried in his hair, elbows crookedly raised to the ceiling. Iwaizumi rolled his eyes.

"Look, I'm stretching out her muscles. You can sit over there or help out. I'm almost finished, you arrived earlier than I thought you would."

Iwaizumi rounded to her side and raised a veined leg in the air, flexing the lower leg up and down slowly, carefully.

"So-so she's in..."

Oikawa hated the way his voice stumbled over the question.

"A coma, yeah." Iwaizumi guessed his unsaid query, moving into another exercise.

"How long?"

"Six years now."

"You... don't do this every day, do you?"

"Nah. Don't have time, with work and whatnot. The nurses usually do this, but sometimes, when I have spare time, I help them out. I asked to do it today, since I'm just lying in bed all day."

Oikawa took all of this in in silence, noting how gradually and cautiously Iwaizumi moved her limbs.

"How long does this take?"

"Hm, around four hours, I think."

"And I thought the half an hour I had to spend on my knee was bad," Oikawa mumbled underneath his breath, suddenly feeling ashamed.

Iwaizumi would spend four hours tending to his mother, and Oikawa would barely speak to his.

"Can I help?"

"Sure. Just copy what I'm doing, alright?  You should know some of these stretches from playing sport anyway."

Oikawa registered his words with a nod, and silence surrounded the room like a blanket of snow. Nothing was getting through it without a lot of effort. Oikawa kept glancing at Iwaizumi’s face, his expression, his eyes, but only one gave anything away. His expression was as neutral as possible, and although Iwaizumi appeared to be looking at what he was doing, Oikawa saw that his eyes weren’t locked onto anything. They were gazing blankly, sorrow hidden deep within his pupils.

Maybe Oikawa was just imagining it.

And maybe he wasn’t.

The silence got so thick Oikawa felt a pressure on his chest, like he could hardly breathe through the grief in the room. Motherless for six years, constantly working to keep up with the hospital care bills, not having time, money or support to go to college, to go to parties and try to skateboard off the roof. Oikawa suddenly felt grief, but it wasn’t for Iwaizumi’s mother. It was for Iwaizumi himself.

Then Iwaizumi started speaking.

"Mom, this is Oikawa. He's my friend, a good friend. He's kept me company all the time when he can, even though we've only known each other a week or so."

Oikawa didn't know what to say. Should he say hello to Iwaizumi's mom? No, surely that would be insulting...or would staying quiet be worse? Oikawa's forehead creased ever so slightly in between his eyebrows, his lips tightening in anguish.

"It's okay, Oikawa. You can say hi. I'd like to think she hears us."

"Hello, Iwaizumi-san," Oikawa managed to get out, gazing down at her lengthy eyelashes-so that's where Iwa-chan got them from, dammit, Oikawa, now is not the time to be thinking about eyelashes. "I must admit, I don't really know what to say-"

"That's a first," Iwaizumi snorted out.

Oikawa glowered across at him, secretly  pleased that he didn't appear to be taking issue with anything Oikawa said.

"Anyway, you should be proud of him," Oikawa continued as he gently rotated her ankles around. "He helped me out when I was a total stranger to him. He took me in and sang disney songs with me, even let me sleep in his bed. I mean, I’ve slept in many people’s beds-you probably didn’t want to know that-but singing disney songs? Now, that’s something I can truly get into.”

Oikawa had gotten comfortable with talking his thoughts aloud now, and as he relaxed, his chatter came out easier.

"I can't believe you raised a man who likes tofu, but it's healthy, I suppose! So you did a good job, Iwaizumi-san. If you can hear me, I think Iwa-chan's one of the bravest people I've ever met, and that's including myself. He actually got knifed defending me, you know that? It’s all good now, though. I patched him up like the brilliant person I am, and yet here he is, back in the hospital. It’s like he doesn’t appreciate my hard work at all! I’m just here for the wifi though, really. Iwa-chan doesn’t believe me, but it’s true.”

Finishing the stretch, Oikawa stepped back, checking that he'd lay her leg down properly before glancing up at Iwaizumi. He was standing there with a oddly embarrassed expression, his hands shifting up and down the sides of his thighs.

"Iwa-chan?"

"Yeah, yeah," Iwaizumi mumbled, his ears tinted strangely red . "We're done."

Oikawa tilted his head sideways.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No," Iwaizumi muttered. "Not at all. Thanks."

"No problemo!" Oikawa burst out cheerfully, helping him ease her back in between the blankets. "It's better than sitting in an empty hospital room."

"Actually, how did you know to come here?"

"This lady came into me and asked me if I was looking for you. I think her name was Hisoka?"

"Hiroka. Hisoka's a boy's name, Oikawa."

"Aw, I was so sure that was it."

Bending over, Iwaizumi carefully kissed his mother's forehead, brushing some ageing hair back behind her ear. "I'll be back tomorrow, Mom."

He started heading towards the door, waving Oikawa on after him. Oikawa allowed himself a swift glance back at her before following Iwaizumi out of the room.

Oikawa might have been imagining it, but he thought he saw a faint, barely-there smile on her lips.

Later, Oikawa promised himself. Later, he'd call his healthy, overly proud mother.

\----

Oikawa had been home precisely twenty seconds, and already his resolve was wavering, his thumb suspended over his mom's smiling face, still and unmoving. Not many people saw through his false smile, but what they didn't know was that he had learned it off of his mom. Even less people saw through hers, her playful grin catching the hearts of men everywhere with nobody realising it wasn't real warmth coming off of it. Tooru had recognised it as a child, and that had made his childhood that much more difficult, realising that his mother smiled sincerely so much more when his sister was around. He supposed he should thank her, though. That smile had gotten him many places a frown wouldn't have.

"Just do it," Tooru told himself aloud. "Touch the screen. It isn't that fucking hard to lower your thumb down an inch."

Oikawa visibly jumped when his phone started vibrating in his hand, Sugawara's contact photo-as per Oikawa's style, it was literally just a close-up on his mole and part of his eye-flashing up onto the screen. Once he'd gotten over the unexpected noise, Oikawa accepted it gladly. An excuse to put it off. Perfect.

"Heyyy, Suga-kun!"

"Hi, Oikawa. Haven't heard from you in a while, so I thought I'd call to see what you're up to."

"Oh, not much! I've just gotten back from visiting Iwa-chan in hospital."

"Iwaizumi's in hospital? Why?"

"He got.." Oikawa grimaced, thinking of Bokuto and Kuroo's conversation the day before. "Staguished."

"What?"

"I told you, he was stabfired!"

"Oikawa, what in heaven's name are you talking about?"

“Iwa-chan got hit by a fire extinguisher!”

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

They chattered on a little more, Oikawa pestering Sugawara for every detail on his relationship with Daichi, and Sugawara chuckling at Oikawa’s flamboyant raves about how Iwa-chan’s taste buds are completely screwed up.

“We must drop in for a visit sometime, Daichi and I,” Suga mentioned. “I did like him, and Daichi did too.”

“Hmph, I hope he’s more grateful for your visit than he is for my company,” Oikawa pouted out. “I tried to flirt with this cute blonde, and he totally shut me down.”

“Was this cute blonde already taken by any chance?”

“Yes! I mean, no! It doesn’t matter about that now,” Oikawa huffed. “He was rude!”

A small chuckle from the other end had Oikawa pouting even harder.

“Sounds like he’s already realised how to handle you.”

“Handle me? What does that even mean? Suga-kun!” Oikawa whined out, but got no response but light laughter, tinkling across the line joyfully.

“Nothing, nothing. When are the visiting hours?”

Soon after, everything was arranged, and Koushi had to go-if Oikawa had his way he would’ve avoided his promise to himself by chatting to Suga for the rest of the night. He flicked back to his home screen reluctantly, narrowing his eyes at the contact icon. He hadn’t voluntarily called his mother in years, and bad habits were hard to break. Particularly habits born of grudges his pride wouldn’t allow him to let go.

“Stop being stupid,” Oikawa told himself, thumb pressing hard against the small brown addressbook. Holding his breath, he slowly rolled the names until his mother’s came up-he didn’t have her inputted as Mom, or anything like that. Just her name.

Oikawa Akako.

Oikawa had to close his eyes to press the number.

It rang out, for a couple of beats, and Oikawa almost hit the red option at the bottom of the screen. The easy option.

Before he could dive out of another one of his ill-held promises, his mother answered, sounding shocked, confused and, most of all, delighted, all at once.

“Tooru! You called!”

“Yeah,” Oikawa managed to say, through sudden, watery tears. “I did.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think it's about time for some feelings other than friendship to develop heh  
> the thing is  
> pining oikawa or pining iwaizumi?  
> it would make more sense if it was oikawa but im thinking about making him like mattsun-good with reading other people, but when it comes to himself, he's fucking clueless  
> on the other hand, iwa's feelings are just...there. he doesn't think or do anything with them.  
> so, basically.....they're both oblivious idiots i guess??


	8. I can't think of a title but it's very gay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> iwa realises he's v gay for oikawa. enough said.  
> wait also terushima is acting weird wonder why

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: this is going to be a short chapter  
> also me: hOW HAS IT PASSED 8K ALREADY  
> seriously grateful for all the comments, i did cry out of happiness for many of them  
> thank you so much  
> *small mention of rape in this chapter*

It was Iwaizumi's fourth day in the hospital, and it was barely a minute past the first visiting hour when Oikawa burst into Iwaizumi's room, Sugawara and Daichi in tow.

"Good morning, Iwa-chan! I hope you didn't die too many times without me!"

"I can play the game myself, asshole. Ah, hello Sugawara, Daichi. How are you two?" Oikawa instantly plopped on the bed beside Iwaizumi as Sugawara pulled up the chair and gestured for Daichi to sit in it.

"We're good. How are you feeling?" Daichi asked as Suga perched himself in his lap, big arms winding automatically around his waist. Oikawa, meeting Iwaizumi's gaze, rolled his eyes and made a gagging noise. Iwaizumi held back a grin and focused on Daichi's query instead.

"I'm feeling much better. I'm being discharged tomorrow, thank god. I've been away from work long enough, and I have my apartment to sort out too."

"Ah, seems like I'm a bit late for giving you this, but here you are!" Suga rooted around in the bag he brought, producing a thin paperback. "I don't know if you read, but I remember that being stuck in hospital is incredibly boring."

He smiled, offering the book to Iwaizumi, who took it with a grateful nod. "I don't really read much anymore, but thank you. I'll read it this evening."

"I picked out one I thought you might like," Suga explained as Iwaizumi looked down at the cover. "Oikawa helped me, since he knows you better than I do. I hope we made the right choice."

It was obviously a romance novel, with an attractive woman with waist-long blonde hair arched sexually against a shirtless man with chiselled-hard abs, roses flowing from her floaty dress.  As Iwaizumi stared down at it, stifled laughter came from the seat, along with a odd cough that seemed like a snort, and mad chuckling from right next to him.

"See, Iwa-chan? It's right up your alley-ow!" Oikawa spilled out onto the floor at Iwaizumi’s hard shove, pouting up at Iwaizumi. "Don't blame me for your taste in books!"

"This isn't my taste in books, dumbass." Iwaizumi glanced over at Suga, who was hiding his smile behind his hand, eyes shining.

"Sorry, Iwaizumi-san, but I couldn't resist."

"And I couldn't stop them," Daichi added. "Not when both of them are set on doing something."

"You're just as bad as Oikawa, aren't you?" Iwaizumi questioned Sugawara, who tilted his head sideways with a tiny, knowing smile.

"Of course. Why do you think we're friends in the first place? We teamed up, to poor Daichi's despair."

One of Daichi's hands came up to cover Suga's mouth, shaking his head vehemently. "Please, don't recount that again." Suga met gazes with Oikawa and they both burst out into giggles at the same time, Suga's muffled somewhat by Daichi's palm.

"No," he said stubbornly. "You're not telling another person this."

"Sawamuraaaaa," Oikawa pleaded, widening his eyes innocently, but the effect was lost because of his wide grin.

"No way."

Daichi stood firm.

Sugawara pulled down Daichi's hand to turn around with a shy smile and beseeching eyes. "Aw, Daichi, please. Last person we tell, I promise."

"Yeah, right," Daichi grumped, but his face softened. "Fine. Suga , go ahead."

Sugawara took a moment to grin triumphantly before beginning to speak.

"Well, it started, like most things do, with Matsukawa and Hanamaki having a bet. The problem was, to prove it, Daichi had to be naked. Or his ass, at least." Sugawara grinned as Daichi's face slowly turned red. "So it was up to me and Oikawa to test out how far a volleyball would go if you bounced it off of Daichi's bare ass."

Iwaizumi frowned, wondering whether to question how that bet even existed in the first place. Daichi's expression and slow head shake made Iwaizumi decide to keep quiet.

"Mattsun guessed four metres, and Makki said it'd roll more after it landed," Oikawa added. "There was a lot of discussion about the angles and force and the curve of Sawamura's tight butt, and as Mattsun's majoring in some physics related shit he dealt with all that." "So, we ended up with estimates if it hit Daichi's ass cheeks from above," Sugawara summarised with a cheeky grin. "Oikawa was in charge of distraction, I was in charge of borrowing his boxers, Hanamaki was in charge of throwing the volleyball, and Matsukawa recorded where it landed."

"Six metres and thirty six centimetres," Oikawa supplied with a wink at Daichi. "I don't know how hard Makki threw that volleyball, but that's impressive. It just bounced right off!"

Only the top of Daichi's hair was visible at this stage, since his entire face was pressed up against a chuckling Sugawara's shoulder blade. His ear, Iwaizumi could see, and it was a flaming crimson. What was he supposed to say now?

"Um," he started. "You do a lot of squats?"

Oikawa burst out into airy laughter. "I'd bet my entire apartment on it!"

"Please, no more bets," Daichi mumbled. "I've had enough."

"I know, you've suffered quite a bit," Suga grinned, then twists around to wind his arms around Daichi's neck, eyelids lowering. "But haven't I more than repaid you?"

"One PDA couple is more than enough, please stop," Oikawa announced loudly as they leaned in, pointedly holding up a palm and turning his face away.

Iwaizumi let out a chuckle as they totally ignored Oikawa, Daichi's hand gently circling the back of Sugawara's neck as they kissed. It was actually kind of sweet, seeing how tenderly Daichi treated Suga. "Leave them be, Oikawa. They're still not as bad as Matsukawa and Hanamaki."

"You know what," Oikawa announced, whipping his head back around. "We should make a bet."

"I'm already against it."

"Who kisses more in public- those disgusting people," Oikawa gestured to the couple on the chair. "Or those other two gross meme lords."

"That would mean- Oikawa, no, we're not following them around."

"You're no fun," Oikawa complained loudly, giving Iwaizumi a disappointed glower. "It's not as if it'd hurt anybody."

"I have to work as soon as I'm able to," Iwaizumi defended himself against those large, accusing brown eyes.

Why did he always feel so guilty when he turned Oikawa's stupid ideas down, goddammit? And-this was most frustrating of all-why did he feel disappointed too? It wasn't as if he thought that would be fun...nope. Definitely not that. Shaking his head, Iwaizumi ripped his gaze away from the pleading Oikawa with a scowl. The chatter flowed on easily, mostly between Oikawa unearthing Daichi's shameful times-in first year he was oddly clumsy- and Sugawara continuing on gleefully, and Daichi getting his own back by reminding him of the times back in high school when he struggled to find the right words.

"I'm over that now, Daichi! Stop bringing it back up!"

"Stop letting Oikawa know about all my embarrassing first year moments, then. He'll probably tell Kageyama and Hinata and I'll never live it down."

"Oh no, I'll make extra sure to tell our dear salty Tsukishima."

"Oikawa. Please."

Soon enough, Yachi, on the afternoon shift for once, popped in, leaving out a surprised noise.

"Sugawara-san! Daichi-san! You know Iwaizumi-san?"

"Hi Yachi! I heard you'd become a nurse, but I didn't expect to run into you here," Sugawara greeted amiably, standing up out of Daichi's lap.

"Hello, Yachi. How are you? It's great to see you again," Daichi stood also, shaking hands with her.

"Good to see you again too! Do you practice with Iwaizumi-san?"

"Oikawa, actually."

"Ooh, that's interesting. You're probably  even better at receiving his serves now, surely. There must be some amazing practice matches."

"Ah, well, Oikawa isn't serving at the moment..."

"Hmph! Sawamura might have improved, but that doesn't mean he could get them every time," Oikawa cut in, folding his arms across his chest huffily.

"Anyway, I hate to cut the chat short, but morning visiting hours are over," Yachi told them hesitantly. "You can come back at one, as I'm sure you know already and I didn't need to tell you that but just so you know...." Yachi trailed off, awkwardly backing up. "Sorry!"

"It's okay," Iwaizumi reassured her, worried about how red her face was going. "It's always good to get a reminder."

"We'll clear out now," Sugawara said gently, taking Daichi's hand. "Iwaizumi, do you want some food? I know the hospital gives you some, but..." He wrinkled up his nose.

"It's shit," Oikawa filled in for him. "No offence, Yachi."

"None at all taken! Iwaizumi-san, I just need to take your vitals for today, okay?"

"Alright," Iwaizumi agreed as Oikawa slipped off the side of his bed.

"So we'll see you later, Iwaizumi," Daichi said as Suga and Oikawa lined up by the door. "Will we get you some food?"

"Sure. Ramen or whatever, I'll eat anything and I'll give you the money when you get back."

"At least you didn't say tofu," Oikawa muttered.

"Don't worry about the money," Sugawara chipped in brightly. "It's our treat, right, Daichi?" "Sure, don't worry about it."

Iwaizumi smiled at them. "Thanks, but I'll cover at least part of the cost."

Oikawa rolled his eyes, sighing. "Iwa-chan, just accept it. I can't believe you're turning down free food."

"I’m not taking advantage of their kindness.”

"Yeah, Oikawa has no problems doing that," Sugawara snorted.

"Hey!" Oikawa protested ad Daichi tugged the door open.

"Stop bickering, you two. We'll see you later, Iwaizumi."

"See you," Iwaizumi responded, and, with one last wave from Oikawa, they drifted out into the corridor, leaving him with Yachi buzzing around him.

\-------

It was one o'clock, and the knock on Iwaizumi's door surprised him. He hadn't expected them to be back so promptly, and didn't expect Oikawa to knock at all, just burst in like he always did.

"Come in," he called, but it wasn't the trio from this morning at all. It was Tanaka, Aone and Terushima, trooping in one after each other.

"Hey, how are you doing, Iwaizumi-san?"

"Oi, Iwaizumi! How ya?"

Aone nodded at him in greeting, as usual, but this nod was quite a bit more friendly than usual.

"I heard that someone knocked your noggin around," Tanaka said, right before him and Yuuji started arguing over who got the chair. Aone stood beside them, looking mildly amused as each of them had half their ass on the seat, shoving at each other.

"Yeah, kind of. And please don't break the chair. I don't want to have to pay for it."

They paused then, and Terushima pouted, going over to Iwaizumi's bedside and staring him in the face.

"Why're you in hospital still? You look alright to me."

"They're letting me go tomorrow," Iwaizumi answered, pulling at his shoulder so he plopped down at the side of the bed. "How's it going with you two?"

"Hold on, you need to tell us exactly what happened first," Tanaka insisted, letting Aone take the seat. "Kuroo filled me in somewhat, but he's a goddamn awful storyteller. There was something about you being hit with a fire extinguisher? How'd that happen?"

Iwaizumi told the story once again, this time managing to make it even shorter. He was getting sick of rehashing the same event over and over again. What time was this? The third, maybe fourth? No wonder he felt fed up while he was speaking.

"What the hell? Was it just a random attack?" Tanaka's eyes were wide.

Yuuji leaned down to smack him right across his bald head, spitting out, "If they were writing fag all over his wall, I don't think it was a random fucking attack, genius," quite a bit more viciously than necessary.

He stilled for a moment, gaze downcast, before shoving his hands into his pockets. "You're lucky they didn't decide to kick you when you were down-literally."

Iwaizumi nodded in solemn agreement as Tanaka rubbed his scalp sulkily.

"I'm surprised that was all they did, but I guess I wasn’t gay enough to warrant a worse attack."

"Trust me dude, with these kinds of people there is no 'not gay enough'," Terushima said, strangely serious. "You better get out while you can. Gay is gay to them, even if you're not banging anybody."

Aone silently supported him with a firm nod. Tanaka reached over the end of Iwaizumi's bed, grabbing the rail there determinedly.

"Yeah, yeah! You gotta get a place somewhere else, damn it! You can't stay there if stuff like this is going to happen!"

“It’s fine. It should die down after a while,” Iwaizumi stated calmly, ignoring Terushima’s answering frown.

“Things like this don’t die down, Iwaizumi.”

“Look, the place is cheap, and it’s close to all the locations I work at. I won’t find another place like it.”

He didn’t mention that it was also close-enough, anyway- to the hospital, too. There was also a knowledge that his pride, too, was stopping him from going anywhere else. That would be just like running away, and Iwaizumi didn’t do that.

Yuuji heaved out a sigh, Tanaka’s expression grew into a mixture of exasperation and confusion, and Aone spoke.

“If you’re dead set on not moving, I won’t try to convince you. But be careful, at least.”

“Yeah, if you don’t turn up to practice I’m going to drop over personally,” Tanaka announced, his fist thudding against his chest as if he was pledging allegiance.

Iwaizumi snorted lightly. “Thanks guys, but I’ll be fine.”

Yuuji was quiet next to him, staring intensely at Iwaizumi, who began to feel uncomfortable after a few lingering seconds.

“Terushima?”

“Nothin’,” he muttered and broke the stare.

Frowning, Iwaizumi turned his focus back to Tanaka and tried to shrug off his unease. By changing the subject utterly.

“So, are you and Nishinoya good again?”

Tanaka relaxed his grip on the railing, standing up with a certain nod.

“Yeah, it turned out that I was just being paranoid. Noya-san isn’t going to spend less time with me because of Asahi-san.”

He grinned shyly, self-consciously rubbing back across his bristly hair. “ I can’t believe I blew up at him over something so small. It was stupid to start with.”

“You got that right,” Yuuji confirmed, then started snickering. “It was fuckin’ funny though, dude. Your face got all red and you looked like you were about to cry and Noya looked like he was about to fight you and burst into tears at the same time and poor Asahi-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it! It was bad, now shut up about it! It’s over, man.”

Yuuji grinned wickedly over at him, giving him a two-fingered salute. “Always gonna be here to rub your mistakes in your face, you’re welcome.”

Iwaizumi and Aone shared an understanding gaze, one born of being sane and having to tolerate Yuuji and Kuroo for years. The next second, the dor was blowing inwards and a lanky person was flowing into the room right after it, holding up a plastic bag triumphantly.

"We're back! And with food!" Oikawa sang out before realising everyone in the room was staring at him. Daichi and Suga appeared behind him. “Ooh, people!”

“Oh, looks like we’ve got more company,” Suga observed as they slipped in.

“Daichi-san! Suga-san!” Tanaka exclaimed, racing past Oikawa to offer each of them a fist bump.

“As energetic as ever, I see. How are you keeping?”

“Good, good!”

“And Noya?”

“Better than me, he’s got a boyfriend!”

As the polite chatter continued, Iwaizumi's attention was drawn over to Terushima, who jolted up off the side of the bed when the duo entered. Frowning, Iwaizumi watched as Suga very carefully and deliberately wound an arm around Daichi, arching his neck to tenderly kiss the hinge of his jaw. His eyes never left the paling Terushima. A bad feeling arose in iwaizumi’s stomach, and he locked eyes with Oikawa, who was weaving his fingers back through his hair. Which just confirmed Iwaizumi’s uneasy gut feeling.

"Oh, Terushima!" Daichi exclaimed, stepping forward. “I didn’t see you there. Aone, too. Hello to both of you.”

Aone stood, politely shaking hands with all three of them. Yuuji lurched backwards slightly, almost instinctively as his gaze flicked uneasily to Sugawara, before catching himself.

"Hi, Sawamura."

Daichi frowned mildly, hands wavering in front of his chest, confused. "Sawamura? What happened to Daichi?"

"I think," Suga cut in. "That Terushima realised you two weren't close enough for him to use your given name."

Daichi stepped forward again in bemusement, and Suga stepped right with him, a tiny, forced smile skewed on his lips.

“Why did you leave so suddenly? If you don’t mind me asking, of-”

“I do. It’s my business, and nobody else’s, so back off, got that?”

Terushima’s lips were drawn so tightly across his teeth that they were pure white, shoulders heightened up to just below his ears, the picture of tenseness.

“I’m sorry,” Daichi apologised immediately, retreating a cautious step. “If it was personal, all you had to do was say so.”

“Yeah, that’s all you had to do,” Suga added casually. “Just tell us if we’re prying too much.”

Licking his lips briefly, Terushima nodded stiffly, but the hardness of his breath didn’t change. “Thanks. I got to go now.”

Daichi looked on in complete confusion as Yuuji, deliberately not making eye contact with anyone, made his way quickly out of the room with a rigid, “I’ll see you at practice, Iwaizumi. Try not to get your ass beaten again.”

“H-hey, Yuuji!” Tanaka called after him, frowning. “What was that all about?”

“No idea,” Daichi said in astonishment.

“Couldn’t tell you.” Sugawara shrugged, one again sliding an arm around Daichi’s waist protectively.

Oikawa stayed silent.

For a moment, at least.

“Well, I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m starving,” he announced suddenly, lifting the weighty bag in the air once again as he made his way to Iwaizumi’s bedside, where Terushima was only a few seconds before. “Iwa-chan, you better be hungry, because I got you a lot. I bought me a lot, too! Sawamura and Suga-kun ate already, but I decided to wait and eat with you, because I’m just that good a friend!”

At that moment, right before Oikawa let down the bag, a tear crackled through the edges, straight down the middle and dumped all the containers onto the floor.

“Oh, fuck,” Iwaizumi said as Oikawa opened his mouth and let out a noise not unlike that of a mating call of a fox.

“Don’t know what you’re complaining about Oikawa, that was bought with our money,” Sugawara pointed out, grimacing.

“I think it’s mostly okay,” Iwaizumi mentioned, bending over the side of the bed to look at the splayed containers, five in all, but only one with the lid popped off.

“Mostly okay is not good enough, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whined out loudly as Aone returned with a mop in his hands- when did he leave and how did he get that so quickly? - to sort out the mess.

“My children,” Oikawa grieved, throwing an arm over his face. “My dear sweet, tasty children.”

“Please tell me that you don’t eat all of your children,” Iwaizumi muttered as he pulled out a tissue to help Aone. “Oi, you caused this mess, help clean it up.”

“Wasn’t my fault!”

“You kept waving that bag around. It’s your fault more than anyone else’s in this room, at the very least.”

As they bickered on, poor Aone doing most of the cleaning, Sugawara started chuckling, laying his head on Daichi’s shoulder.

“I’m just saying, they remind me of two old people that’ve been married for years,” Sugawara said, a gentle smile on his lips. "Although, people say that about us, too."

“You do have a point. For two people who haven’t known each other that long, they’re surprisingly comfortable with each other.”

“Maybe it’s like that moment where you find someone that you simply click with, without any effort?” Koushi suggested as Iwaizumi hesitantly peered into what Oikawa had chosen for his lunch. He seemed to be satisfied, until Oikawa opened what he was about to consume.

"Are you really eating that? It'll clog up your arteries."

"I love food much more than my arteries, Iwa-chan."

"I'm quoting you on that when you're dying of high cholesterol."

"That's not a thing, silly!"

"Heart attack, then."

“That’s better!”

Daichi snorted lightly, but thoughtfully. “Perhaps, but I think that’s almost impossible, and definitely very rare.”

“How do you explain that, then?”

Daichi took a moment to think, stroking his finger lightly, soothingly, across Suga’s palm.

“I’m not sure, but I think it’s to do with their personalities. They compliment each other. Have you ever seen Oikawa stay sober, so close to competition season?”

“Actually, yes.”

Surprised, Daichi gazed over at Suga, head tilting to the side quizzically.

“Although,” Suga continued, “I will say that I think Iwaizumi-san’s presence is helping. After all, Oikawa’s friends are all paired up- like us. He doesn’t have anyone special, and I think he’s latching onto Iwaizumi-san now.”

Nodding, understanding floated back into Daichi’s eyes, looking back at the duo, now laughing and talking like they didn’t just spill curry over the hospital bedsheets.

“I see. I just hope he doesn’t scare him away. I like Iwaizumi.”

“I don’t think so,” Sugawara whispered softly, catching the affection hidden in the crevices of Iwaizumi’s scowl. “I have a good feeling about him.

\--------

Tanaka walked in a few minutes later, as Iwaizumi and Oikawa were happily tucking into whatever was in the containers with plastic utensils.

"He straight up left," he told everyone, confusion etched all over his expression. That was one thing about Tanaka- his emotions could be read easily by his face, even by people who didn't know him that well.

"Really? He didn't say anything to you?" Suga questioned, squeezing Daichi's hand in his. "How strange."

"Nah, I was out there looking for him, but he just upped and vanished."

Oikawa's eyes flickered from Tanaka to Suga to Iwaizumi uncertainly, then resumed eating, but far from peacefully.

"That is odd," Daichi agreed readily, mentally scanning through anything that he could've done to upset Terushima like that.

"I'll talk to him later, and figure out what's going on," Suga promised.

"He answers you?" Daichi asked, surprised. "When he left, he stopped answering my texts entirely, except for one, to stop me from reporting him to the police as a missing."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll be able to contact him somehow. I'm very good at getting information out of people."

"I'll leave this to you then, Suga."

"No problem. I'll find the issue, don't you worry."

Iwaizumi's gaze snapped back to Oikawa, who was quiet for once. Maybe it was because his mouth was full of chicken -although that never stopped him before- or maybe it was something else. He decided to inquire about the possibility of it being "something else" later, when nobody else was around.

Aone and Tanaka didn't stay very long after that. They bade everyone present farewell, with get-well wishes towards Iwaizumi, before departing. Tanaka's voice was heard for a solid twenty seconds by all the people in the room, even through the door. Sometimes, there was the answering, short rumble of Aone's rarely-head voice.

"Tanaka and Aone being friends, huh?" Daichi speculated with a small smile. "Now that's a pair I wasn't expecting."

"No kidding," Sugawara chuckled.

"I don't think they're that great friends," Iwaizumi mentioned, stacking up the dirty containers. "But I agree, they do make an unusual pair."

"Do they really?"

All gazes turn towards Oikawa, who was lazily patting down a raised bit of duvet.

"Explain."

Iwaizumi's request.

Looking bored, Oikawa started picking at any loose threads.

"Like, Tanaka's mentally very strong, and so is Aone. They both were solid cornerstones of their team, and they share the same drive. From what I saw of Dateko's matches, Aone always tried to intimidate the ace by pointing silently at them. Is that not similar to Tanaka's provocative expressions? It's not that unusual to picture them as friends."

Iwaizumi blinked.  "Well, if you make those connections, it makes some sort of sense, I guess."

"I know, I know, I'm just a modest genius at figuring out people, you don't have to say it."

"I wasn't going to."

"You were thinking it, though. I'd bet on it."

"How can you-"

"Looks like they're off again," Suga remarked to Daichi, who nodded with a smile.

"Shall we go now? I think Iwaizumi will be fine with Oikawa's company."

"And I think you're right, Daichi. Oikawa, Iwaizumi-san!"

They evidently didn't hear him, or maybe they wanted to finish their discussion on whether you could prove thoughts were thought or not. Oikawa, of course, was taking the "advanced technology" route, while Iwaizumi was taking the "absolute bullshit" stance.

"I think you need to call louder," Daichi suggested.

"Iwaizumi-san, Oikawa!"

Two heads rotated towards Sugawara, finally.

"Why'd you call us so loudly?!" Oikawa demanded, to which Suga flat out ignored him.

"We'd best be going now. Great seeing you again, Iwaizumi-san."

"Hopefully you can make it to our next practice," Daichi offered warmly, shaking hands firmly with him.

"Maybe we could have an arm wrestling match sometime," Iwaizumi ventured, because Daichi's arms were on a level neither Tanaka nor Yuuji could touch. He wanted a challenge.

"When you're back to full health, I will consider it," Daichi answered evenly, eyes crinkling up at the edges.

"Mm, I'd like to see that," Suga slipped in, a nod confirming his thoughts.

"Suga-kun, you just want a muscle show, don't you?" Oikawa questioned slyly, his eyes half-lidded.

Suga winked back at him. "Perhaps, but that's a conversation for another day. Iwaizumi-san, a pleasure to be in your company."

"Goodbye," Daichi said, swinging open the door. "Rest well."

"I will, thanks."

Suga had time to flash him one last smile before the door shut, and Oikawa and Iwaizumi were alone in the room.

Why did that thought make Iwaizumi's chest feel funny? His stomach flitted about a bit, too. Strange.

Frowning, Iwaizumi clasped a hand over his ribcage, wondering if it was something he ate or perhaps his wound acting up. Oikawa dumped himself back down onto the bed, leering over at Iwaizumi with the slight quirk of one corner of his lips upwards, ready to tease.

"Ooh, are you dying from high cholesterol, Iwa-chan?"

"I bet it’s the takeaway you got me."

“I chose quality food for you, excuse you! Next time, I’m going to get you rice. Just rice.”

“Just you try it. I can deal with rice.”

“Challenge accepted! I’m going to feed you rice for the rest of your life.”

The rest of the day unraveled similarly, with Iwaizumi receiving no more visitors apart from Oikawa, who only left the room to go to the bathroom, smoke, or fetch coffee. Hajime found that he really didn’t mind, however. It certainly did brighten up sitting up in bed and playing PSP alone all day, although they did progress a bit further in the game. Iwaizumi would never admit it, but he liked the sensation of Oikawa’s shoulder pressing warmly against his eagerly, liked how his soft breath washed over his neck. Before he knew it, heat was flushed all over his neck and creeping up his ear. Grabbing the glass of water beside his bed, Iwaizumi paused the game briefly to swig some down, praying Oikawa didn’t notice anything.

“Oh my god, Iwa-chan, I can’t believe you haven’t beaten this boss yet, he’s like the easiest one in the whole game.”

Iwaizumi breathed out a quiet sigh of relief. Didn’t look like it.

“You say that about every boss, Oikawa.”

“It’s motivation!”

Rolling his eyes, Hajime resumed playing and plunged back into the world of trying to concentrate on the game instead of how Oikawa was hanging over his shoulder. It wasn’t as if he was deliberately doing this. It was just Oikawa being Oikawa, always over friendly and without any personal boundaries. And they were just friends. Iwaizumi shouldn’t be noticing every tiny nick and scar lacing his palms or how his eyelashes flickered whenever Iwaizumi fucked up. With his mind aflurry with all those thoughts, all those damn thoughts that he couldn’t shake off no matter how hard he tried-it was the evening before he could even attempt to sort it-whatever  “it” was-out. Fuck Oikawa and his distracting...everything.

“Time for me to go, it seems,” Oikawa said slowly, glancing up at the clock.

“Wait until Yachi comes in,” was out of Iwaizumi’s mouth before he could stop it.

“Didn’t she have the morning shift?” Oikawa pointed out, turning towards Hajime, his body spread out sideways the length of the bed, his left shoulder resting on the mattress.

“Oh. Right. I forgot.”

Oikawa smirked. “I’m flattered that you want me to stay longer, but I have other things to do other than babysitting you.”

“Really? I think the last few days suggests otherwise.”

Iwaizumi rotated his body so he was facing Oikawa better, and for once he was the one with the smirk on his lips.

 "In that case, I'm leaving you right now then," Tooru huffed out, clambering off the bed to gather up his stuff, which was becoming more common and more widespread around Hajime's room.

"What, at the actual time you're supposed to leave at?" Iwaizumi teased, finding Oikawa's lipbalm next to his pillow and tossing it over to him.

"Hey! I'm leaving aren't I?" Oikawa yanked on his jacket, giving Iwaizumi his familiar, airy wave and a friendly grin. "I'll see you soon, Iwa-chan! Try not to break Kindaichi-kun's dear PSP, will you?"

"Oi, how violent do you think I am?"

The only answer Iwaizumi got was an infuriating peace sign and the door closing firmly.

Sighing, Iwaizumi rolled over, spreading his limbs out everywhere on the bed as disappointment racked through his body. Disappointment that Oikawa was gone, mingled with utter despair, born of suspicions about what his weird feelings actually were.

At least he had tonight to think about it.

Or so he thought.

\-----------

"Iwa-chan, did you hear? There's a firework display on tonight!" Oikawa strode over to the curtains and flung them open wide.

Iwaizumi groaned, rolling over sleepily. He really didn’t need Oikawa around right now. Not when he was attempting to deal with his weird feelings by….okay, maybe he was just ignoring them and praying the sensation he felt every time Oikawa smiled would pass.

"Fireworks show, huh? Haven't seen one of those in ages."

"But they're on at every festival. How could you-wait, let me guess. Work?"

"Yup." Iwaizumi grunted, attempting to burrow down further into the sheets. "You aren't going to make me get up for it, right?"

"Damn right I am! Come on, you need to stand at the window to get the best effect," Oikawa insisted, clambering onto the side of the bed, kneeling with his feet out over the edge as he tugged on Iwaizumi's arm. "It'll be really pretty, trust me!"

"Take some pictures. I'm tired," was Iwaizumi's lethargic response.

"Nooo...." Oikawa whined, shaking Iwaizumi's shoulder roughly. "You have to watch them with me, or it won't be as fun!"

"Ugh...." Iwaizumi groaned out, lifting a hand to rub at his eyes. "If they aren't as good as you say they'll be, I'm hitting you."

"You won't," Oikawa said confidently, to which Iwaizumi half-heartedly swatted at his face. "Shut up. I'm getting up, aren't I?" Iwaizumi sat up in the bed, his trademark scowl looking just a little more annoyed than usual.

"You'll love this! And to make it even easier for you, I got you this!"

Oikawa hopped off the bed and occupied himself with fetching a wheelchair, hauling it in from the corridor. Iwaizumi scowled at it.

"Ah, it's okay, I can stand."

"Don't be silly," Oikawa huffed. "I don't know how long it's going on for, and if you get tired before it ends I am not letting you go back to bed."

"What are you, my mom? I can go back to bed whenever I want."

"No, you can't. Now get up here."

Iwaizumi let out one more groan as he swung his legs out of the sheets, to let Oikawa know how much of an inconvenience this was. He was only resting at the edge for a second before Oikawa was pulling up to his feet, chattering about how good of a view they had from their floor or something along those lines.

"When is it starting?" Iwaizumi asked, leaning over to rest his elbows on the windowsill.

"Soon!"

"Oikawa...."

"Okay, okay, very soon!"

Iwaizumi dug his pointer finger into Oikawa's ribs, who squealed and backed away. "Not my sides, I'm ticklish there!"

"Give me the actual time they're starting at."

Oikawa returned to the window, pouting and rubbing his side with a hurt expression. "Quarter to eleven. Happy?"

"Fair enough."

"Hey..."

"I really don't like the expression on your face right now."

The corners of Oikawa's lips were quirked up mischievously, his eyes narrowed. "You know where we'd have an even better view from?"

"If I threw you out the window you'd have a great view," Iwaizumi offered.

"Get in the wheelchair, Iwa-chan."

"I'm not an invalid. I can walk, if you tell me where we're going."

"Great, so you agreed to it ! And not knowing is half the fun, Iwa-chan!" Oikawa rambled on cheerfully, steering Iwaizumi until the back of his knees hit against the wheelchair seat.

"I never agreed to-"

With one last shove from Oikawa’s hands, Iwaizumi dropped into the wheelchair, barely having time to protest before Oikawa gleefully seized the handles and began pushing.

"Hold on, we're going for a ride!"

\------

Ten minutes, a lot of cursing and sneaking around corners later, they were, of course, on the roof. Iwaizumi had no idea how he didn't guess that that was where they were heading.

"It’s freezing up here," Hajime commented as Oikawa parked him right in the middle of the flat roof, underneath the millions of white pinpricks in the sky. It was a mild enough night, but it was hard to be warm when all you had were thin sheets over your chest and back.

"Whoopsie, I kind of forgot you only had on your hospital gown," Oikawa apologised.

"I'll survive," Iwaizumi replied. He heard rustling from beside him and before he knew it there was a weight around his shoulders and and all too familiar scent wafting around him. Iwaizumi turned his head to look up at Oikawa in surprise, his jacket hanging around his shoulders.

"Take this, Iwa-chan! No need to thank me for my generosity, I know I'm brilliant already," Oikawa chattered on, now only dressed in a striped t-shirt and skinny jeans.

"Aren't you cold now?"

"I'm already cold -blooded, so it's no problem! If you get any sicker you might die."

"Uh, I don't think I'll die..."

Iwaizumi slid his arms into the jacket, heat immediately firing up along his skin. It was longer at his waist and slightly tight across his chest as he zipped it up, but it was surprisingly warm for such a light material.

“Tha-”

"Sshh, I think they're starting!"

"That's an airplane, Oikawa."

"Don't cruelly crush my dreams like that."

Iwaizumi chuckled at the offended tone in Oikawa’s voice, as Oikawa rounded the wheelchair and folded himself into a cross-legged position, responding to Hajime’s chuckling with a small smile.

“See? This is fun, isn’t it?”

Fuck, there it was again. The deep, pleasant ebbing sensation in his chest, triggered by the soft way Oikawa smiled, so different from the harsh, calculated lines of his showstar grin. Iwaizumi had to glance away, out at the city laying out underneath their gazes, before even more heat rose to his cheeks.

“Yeah, I guess,” Iwaizumi mumbled, focusing on a painted bus snaking through two buildings to try and distract him. Didn’t work. Buses are not very interesting, and definitely not when compared to Oikawa.

Speaking of Oikawa, he was currently tugging on Iwaizumi’s sleeve-technically his own jacket sleeve, eyes lit up in excitement.

“Look, look, they’re starting!”

Pinwheels of red and green, sparkles flickering underneath. Circles of diamonds, falling somberly from the bright tears in the night sky. Bursts of light arched gracefully through the air, spreading out above the city.

None of them shone as much as Tooru's quiet, delighted smile. Iwaizumi knew this one was genuine, truly sincere and not even partly faked by the heated tug in his gut. However captivating the artworks of fire were, the way Oikawa clasped Hajime's wrist and the little sounds of amazement flitting from his lips entranced Iwaizumi more than the fireworks ever could. The real fireworks were in Hajime's chest, banging against his ribcage again and again, with every squeeze of Oikawa's elegant, strong fingers. He wasn't sure when his blatant, full on staring had started, and definitely wasn't sure why, but he was beginning to suspect.

"Iwa-chan, look! That one was so..."

Oikawa didn't finish his sentence, too wrapped up in the little parcels of pretty gunpowder.

"Beautiful," Iwaizumi finished, but he wasn't looking at the fireworks at all. He was watching the way the colourful light threw floating beams of multicolour glints through Oikawa's soft brown irises.

"Yeah," Oikawa breathed back, so gently Iwaizumi swore he heard the thud of his pulse. There was a break in the fireworks, and Hajime had to jerk his gaze back to the sky before Oikawa noticed his staring. He still saw the way his face lit up when they began again.

How? Hajime wondered. How could he possibly like Oikawa this way?

Oikawa had such a shitty personality, constantly insulting and teasing, self-centred, that it left Iwaizumi befuddled. How did he like that? How could it possibly be that he liked it-liked him, really, really liked him? Yes, he was good looking - but weren't lots of people? Iwaizumi valued personality over looks anyway, no matter what stereotypes people had in place about men preferring looks over mind.

Then again, maybe it was because Oikawa was amusing. Witty, at times. Good at video games, good at putting Iwaizumi at ease, good at erasing Iwaizumi’s innate sense of loneliness. He never had much time for friends, but Oikawa was so constant, so persistent, that he didn’t need to make time.

Oikawa was just there.

The last firework sparked out with a bang; Oikawa let out a delighted little cry, and Iwaizumi's breath swooped around in his chest as if he didn't quite know what to do with the sound, the single noise of joy. It swept over Iwaizumi like a sudden tsunami- no warning signs for this one, no fleeing animals or water pulled back from the beach, no. This-this feeling, or maybe it wasn't the feeling at all, maybe it was the simple realisation that he liked Oikawa a lot more than he thought- hit without warning, and Iwaizumi couldn't seem to quite get back on his feet. The sensation of Oikawa's soft grasp on his wrist unbalanced him, sent his head reeling. Goddammit. God. Damn. _Oikawa._

"See? Wasn't I right, Iwa-chan? Next time, just listen to me and go along with it without groaning so much."

Iwaizumi looked up, and there was Oikawa, gazing down at him with his eyes still alight from the glow of the fireworks that had somehow transferred from the sky to Iwaizumi's chest. Some of his makeup had rubbed off, and parts of the acne spotting his jawline was visible, yet he still looked every bit as flawless and beautiful as he did the night at the bar, when Hajime had asked him what he did with his face. Iwaizumi's hand clenched around the black rubber of his wheelchair. Why wasn't it fading? Instead of drifting away like an idle thought-oh yeah, I might like Oikawa as more than a friend-the realisation was hardening with every moment he kept staring at Oikawa, turning into something much more solid. Conviction.

I like Oikawa.

Like, like like him.

"Iwa-chan?" Oikawa's face tilted to the side, a clear question in his eyes. "Are you still spellbound by how incredible the fireworks were? And how right I was?”

Are, Iwaizumi wanted to correct him. The fireworks were still going off, as strong and as bright as ever, in his mind as well as as his heart. Iwaizumi forcefully tore his gaze away from Oikawa's, cursing himself. Enough.

"Yeah. They were good, I guess."

He wasn't one to judge. He barely recalled any of them, unless they were reflected in the depths of Oikawa's eyes.

"Only good? I thought they were fantastic. You're so hard to please."

Oikawa's jacket was still slung over Iwaizumi's shoulders, and as he watched, goosebumps lined Oikawa's arms.

"You must be cold. Here, take this back," Iwaizumi said, shrugging off the jacket and standing up to hand it back.

Oikawa stood exactly five centimetres taller than him, and five centimetres must be the exact distance between Oikawa's eyes and his lips, because Iwaizumi found himself staring straight at them. Well, at least that's the excuse he gave himself afterwards. They were wonderful lips though, arched in the middle, slender around the edges but so richly curved.

Then his mouth broke into a warm smile, and gentle fingers were lightly ghosting off his shoulders, carefully placing the jacket back where it was.

"Don't be silly! I'm not wearing that, it's got your gross sweat all over it. Wash it for me, would you?"

Dragging his gaze up from Oikawa's parted lips, Iwaizumi scowled at him, hands tightening around the soft material. "I'm not going to wash it for you, asshole."

"Iwa-chan, please," Oikawa begged, pushing Iwaizumi back into the wheelchair. "I hate doing laundry."

Iwaizumi stood up again, slipping his hands into the jacket and zipping it up again quickly. "I don't need to sit in that, Oikawa. I'm going home tomorrow. I can walk."

“Aw, but it’s a waste, wheeling it around with nobody in it!”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s foldable, I can just carry it.”

Hajime turned his back to Oikawa to crouch down in front of the wheelchair. Okay, so he’d seen these collapse before, he just...had no idea how to do it. It would be easier just to wheel it down empty, for fuck’s sake, but the thought of Oikawa endlessly teasing him about how he couldn’t even figure out to collapse it made him grit his teeth and fumble around some more. There had to be a catch somewhere, surely. After longer than Iwaizumi would like to admit, he finally got it. Lift up the seat in the middle. That was literally it. Smart, Hajime.

Sighing as he straightened up, back cracking, he glanced around, wondering why Oikawa had been quiet for so long. Once he lay eyes on the familiar form, Iwaizumi dropped the wheelchair from his grasp and sprinted the ten or so strides to the edge of the roof.

“O-Oikawa, what the-”

Oikawa was sitting peacefully on the edge of the roof, beyond the waist-high railings that circled the roof, which meant that he was sitting on the edge. The very edge. Iwaizumi had no idea how much space there was between the railing and the sheer drop of a seven-story building, but he didn’t want to find out. Oikawa’s hair was gently ruffled by a sudden breeze, and Iwaizumi had images of Oikawa being unexpectedly shaken, losing his balance and plunging down past seven rows of windows to splay out on the street below, crimson seeping out from underneath his shattered body. The vivid pictures did nothing to help Hajime’s racing heart.

Oikawa twisted around as Iwaizumi reached him, immediately bending over the railings and grabbing onto his arm.

“The view is-”

“The fuck are you doing?!”

Iwaizumi was breathing hard, despite the short distance.

Oikawa blinked with those light brown lashes of his, seemingly bemused.

“Admiring the view. It’s beautiful up here, you can see the whole city.”

“You can see the whole city from behind the railings!” Iwaizumi’s grip tightened on Oikawa’s upper arm. The railing was beginning to bite into his stomach, clenched with anxiety. “How did you even manage to sit there? Actually, I don’t care. Get up. It’s dangerous, Oikawa. What if you fell?” Iwaizumi babbled, tugging at Oikawa’s arm lightly, not wanting to unbalance him but unwilling to let go.

“Iwa-chan.” Oikawa’s expression was completely calm, an amused smirk on his lips. “It’s fine. Chill.”

“It’s not fine, and I’ll chill when you get behind here,” Iwaizumi answered firmly, glowering at Oikawa, who sighed heavily and began turning his body around, clasping onto the railing top beside Iwaizumi’s torso for support.  

“Gosh, you’re such a buzzkill.”

Iwaizumi couldn’t let go of Oikawa as he clambered back over the railing, Hajime’s hands grasping his lower arms as if to anchor him. Oikawa’s skin was cool and smooth against his fingers, somehow paler in the combined moonlight and golden street lamps than under the fluorescent hospital lights. Iwaizumi didn’t relax until Oikawa’s two feet landed on the safe side of the railing, his heart only beginning to slip back down to his chest now.

“Happy now?” Oikawa huffed, looking down at Iwaizumi’s hands circling his wrists tightly, ringed by whiteness. “And you can let me go now, Iwa-chan. I’m not going to dive back over the railing.”

Iwaizumi scowled to cover up his embarrassment, releasing Oikawa’s wrists quickly.

“I just didn’t want you to fall when you were climbing over it.”

“If I didn’t fall the first time, I’d hardly fall the second time,” Oikawa dismissed him, turning to walk back to the elevator, Iwaizumi trailing along behind.

“That’s not how it works, dumbass. There’s a wind picking up, too. What if you got caught off guard?”

Oikawa’s slender shoulders rose and fell casually.

“Then I’d fall.”

Irritation swelled up in Iwaizumi, and he reached out a hand to grab Oikawa’s shoulder, roughly spinning him around to face him.

“Don’t say it so fucking casually! You could’ve died!”

Iwaizumi’s voice was sharp, growing louder with every frustrated word. Oikawa sucked in a quick breath, his eyes widening for an instant before he gathered himself, a well-oiled mask of indifference right back in place. Shrugging off Hajime’s hand with a cocky smile, Oikawa waved a hand in front of his face, an attempt at dismissal that pissed Iwaizumi off even more.

“Don’t be so serious, Iwa-chan! It makes your face look scary. You’ll never get a partner looking like that.”

“Don’t change the subject, Oikawa!”

“There was a subject?”

Oikawa’s disinterested, casual tone didn’t change, but a hand lifted hesitantly to tug at his hair.

“Don’t do anything like that again, got that?”

"Why do you care?"

Oikawa's gaze was flat, defiant, and completely sincere. Iwaizumi felt his breath stutter in his throat. 

"Because..."

I care about you.

"Look," Iwaizumi abruptly started, closing his eyes. "You're my friend, and I don't want to deal with you dying. So quit it with that 'why do you care' bullshit. Of course I care."

Oh fuck, of course he'd ended up blurting it out anyway. Iwaizumi was never good at hiding his thoughts, much less feelings this intense. He opened his eyes, and the last thing he expected appeared on Oikawa's face.

An honest smile.

Iwaizumi's heart splattered into bits.

"Thanks, Iwa-chan," Oikawa said softly, and Iwaizumi's heart recreated itself, for the sole purpose of beating madly.

"Don't mention it. Now c'mon, let's get back before we get into trouble," Iwaizumi said gruffly, spinning around to stalk over to the forgotten wheelchair.

"Oh, you managed to fold it!"

"Don't act as if you weren't expecting me to, asshole."

"I wasn't! You're more intelligent than you look, who knew!"

Grabbing up the wheelchair, Iwaizumi held it out for Oikawa to take. "You carry it down, Mr. intelligent."

"I'm the smart one. I don't carry things," Oikawa sniffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "That's what the mindless muscle guys like you are for."

"You shouldn't insult mindless muscle guys if you don't want a black eye," Iwaizumi grouched, starting towards the elevator, wheelchair underneath his arm, and Oikawa following along, undeterred.

"You shouldn't make such idle threats, Iwa-chan."

"You shouldn't be such an asshole, Oikawa."

“You shouldn’t be so mean,” Oikawa complained as the elevator doors slide shut, and they began their descent downwards. “You might need a favour from me someday, and I’ll remember this moment and refuse, and then you’ll be in trouble.”

“The day that happens is the day I admit you’re better at video games than me.”

“You’re basically just admitting that right now!”

“No, I’m not.”

Oikawa gave him a sly grin, one hand lifting to brush some hair out of his eyes. Iwaizumi tried not to follow the movement too much.

"By the way, Iwa-chan, I don't have a ride home, so I'm gonna crash in your room, okay? Thanks!" he chirped out.

Iwaizumi’s heart suddenly made another hasty sprint, quickening in his chest.

"Yeah, that's cool. You can borrow one of my blankets."

"Obviously!"

\-----

"It's so cold..." Oikawa whined, clinging to the blanket clutching his shoulders as he rocked back and forth in the chair. "I'm going to turn up the thermostat."

"Don't you dare," Iwaizumi rumbled out. "I'm the perfect temperature right now, and if you turn that up I'll be too warm."

"How can you be hot? It's freezing!"

"How can you be cold here, and not up on the roof?" Iwaizumi sighed, then lifted up one side of his duvet. "Get under here, asshole, before I change my mind."

His heart was beating quickly even offering this, and when Oikawa beamed at him and slipped in beside him elegantly, Hajime thought the nerves flitting through his veins might burst his heart wide open.

"Thanks, Iwa-chan!" Oikawa purred out happily as Iwaizumi lowered his arm, draping the blankets over them both. Rolling onto his side, Oikawa closed his eyes with a contented hum, curling his hands around the pillow.

"Sweet dreams," he mumbled as the corners of his mouth began falling and his breathing grew deeper.

"Goodnight."

The edge of Iwaizumi's shoulder was less than two inches away from Oikawa's folded arms beside his chest, and he was finding it really fucking difficult to fall asleep.

Turned out, despite appearances, Oikawa was having the same issue. Before five minutes were up, he was already talking yet again.

"Iwa-chan....?"

Iwaizumi grunted vaguely next to him, which Oikawa took as a sign that he was awake. He shifted around under the sheets, wrapping the blanket closer to his skin.

"If you hadn't been there that night, what would've happened to me?"

"It doesn't matter now. I was there."

Iwaizumi's voice was sleepy, low and rough, and it sent a shot up Oikawa's spine. 

"But...I want to know," Oikawa protested, his fingers scrabbling quietly at the pillow. "I kind of know already, but ...."

"It's better if you don't know. Anyway, I can only guess myself, since I've never seen them in action before."

"In action?"

"Harassing people. I only knew that they were dickbags, and that they bragged about it."

"So why did you step in for me?"

"I told you. You stood up to them."

"I didn't really," Oikawa mumbled. "I was terrified."

"I'd be worried if you weren't. Hey, I don't think I ever thanked you properly for fixing me up that night."

"It was the least I could do to repay you," Oikawa murmured back.

"Thanks, anyway."

Oikawa's thoughts returned back to the bad sort, far too swiftly for his liking.

"I would've been raped, right?"

"I don't know that for sure."

"So, yes."

"You could've just been beaten up."

"I didn't exactly get that vibe from them. I got that vibe from you, though."

One of Iwaizumi's eyes cracked open.

"What do you mean?"

"When you first appeared, I thought you were with them."

Iwaizumi squinted at Oikawa in the dark, light green eyes puzzled….and a little bit hurt?

“Why’d you think that?”

“Just...you looked dangerous,” Oikawa admitted in a soft murmur, feeling slightly guilty. “But I know you’re just as lame as the rest of us now, so it’s all good!”

“I’m not sure whether to take that as an insult or a compliment,” Iwaizumi grumbled back, but from the softened crease of his forehead, he wasn’t really mad. “Go to sleep, Oikawa. I need to get up early tomorrow for work."

"Working already?"

"Somebody's got to pay the hospital bills."

"You're way too responsible, Iwa-chan," Oikawa sighed out softly, to which Iwaizumi stubbornly shut his eyes again.

"Sleep, Oikawa."

"Fine, fine, you get your way this time," Oikawa whined quietly, settling his head back down into the pillow. "Goodnight, Iwa-chan."

"Night."

\-----

It was blurry, and soft. Warm, too. A sort of floaty warmth all around Iwaizumi, his limbs feeling like they’re suspended in cloudy liquid, something comforting and yet something that paralysing him. There was another something, too- a careful brush against his bare skin, one that felt like beautiful, elegant fingers.

A tingling sensation arose in Iwaizumi's stomach, racing all the way down to his toes. What was this? Gentle, streamlined hands were on his waist, pulling in close to the warm form next to him. Relaxing, Iwaizumi allowed himself to be dragged over to settle against Oikawa, chest to chest. The hands wandered up the sides of his body, wrapping carefully around the sides of Iwaizumi's face. His breath hitching in his throat, Iwaizumi felt a forehead brush off of his, followed by a ghost of a breath passing across his lips. In the next heartbeat, the breath had solidified into quiet lips pressing against his own, and Iwaizumi could taste him. Oikawa, kissing him as tenderly as those tentative first kiss in cheesy chick-flick teen movies. A thrill spiked through Iwaizumi's veins, his blood heated as it pulsed around his body. Yes. Yes, this is what he wanted.

The moment the kiss ended and cold air met his lips, Iwaizumi woke up. Inhaling sharply as he took in the darkness above him and the steadily sleeping man beside him, Iwaizumi fought off a need to groan. With the memory of the dream fresh in his mind and the slow breathing of the man he wanted to kiss in his ears, Iwaizumi doubled over to hold his head in his hands.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rip iwa yet again  
> also it's 3am here pardon if it's messy  
> EDIT: I'M SORRY IF YOU READ THIS BEFORE I FIXED ALL THE MISTAKES  
> for example i thought i typed advanced and it came out as advantaged and I????  
> EDIT ON THE EDIT: THERE WAS MORE MISTAKES I'M SO SORRY  
> THANK YOU DontMindMeDear


	9. The Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oikawa holds an intervention for kindaichi, makki and mattsun are gay uncles, iwaizumi returns back to yet another pleasant surprise and kuroo annoys oikawa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> over 16k ayyyy  
> took me nine days but still!!!  
> i hope you enjoy!

Swiftly, Oikawa woke with sheets tangled around his legs, his brightly patterned pyjamas all musty and twisted up. It took him a lingering second to realise where he was, and why there was a hunched-up body beside him, only a few inches away - the one person bed didn’t allow for any more space between them. Eyes opening brightly - okay, so it was one of those mornings where he didn’t have to struggle through half-lidded, bleary eyes- Oikawa squinted at the sunlight billowing into the room, trying to judge the time as he sat up. Early morning, but not that early? Maybe seven or eight? Flailing around, Oikawa finally found his glasses case, having fallen from the bedstand during the night. He was probably flopping over on either side while he was sleeping and knocked it off with one of his awkwardly long arms. Slotting on his glasses, Oikawa leaned over Iwaizumi, who was lying facing away from him, prodding his back insistently through the thin material.

“Iwa-chan, wake up.”

Iwaizumi made a low grunting sound and tried to shift away from Oikawa, who followed him, never ceasing the poking like the persistent bitch he was. His fingernails were long and sharp, and Oikawa was sure that he could get Iwaizumi up, no matter how much the man loved his sleep. 

“Fuck off, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi slurred out, pulling the duvet tighter around his body. 

“Well, I can definitely see that you’re a morning person!” Oikawa declared cheerfully, grabbing the edge of the duvet and yanking it clean off of Hajime’s form. 

“You said you never get up before one,” Iwaizumi groaned out, lifting a hand just to flip Oikawa off. Other than that, however, he didn’t stir from his position, one cheek sunk deep into the pillow. 

“I get up whenever I want,” Oikawa shot back, rounding the bed to cock his hands on his hips, narrowing his eyes down at Hajime. “Don’t you have work this morning? And you have to fill out the paperwork for you to be discharged, too.”

“Stop being responsible. It’s weird.”

Iwaizumi cracked open one eye to glower up at Oikawa, a hand rising to brush over the top of his hair, somehow spiking it up even more. The next moment, he snorted loudly, flopping over onto his back. 

“What?” Oikawa demanded, snatching his pillow to make certain that he didn’t go back to sleep. Iwaizumi apparently didn’t notice either of his actions, and kept on laughing, his broad shoulders shuddering against the mattress. Oikawa smacked his grinning face with the pillow, scowling. “What is it?”

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi managed to get out, his words riddled with half-chuckles. “It’s only my second time seeing your bedhead, and I-” he broke out into more laughter, placing both hands over his stomach. “I still can’t over it. It’s amazing. Kuroo’s doesn’t hold a candle to it.”

“Don’t compare me to him!” 

Oikawa hit Iwaizumi with the pillow again, and although Iwaizumi barely noticed, but he was beginning to get a hold of himself again. Oikawa leaned back against the wall, pouting and trying to pat his fly-away hair down with his hands self-consciously, watching as all the chuckles slowly emptied out of Iwaizumi’s throat. After a few more seconds, Iwaizumi seemed to get a hold of himself, gasping out his last, lingering giggles, but then he made the mistake of turning his head to look at Oikawa again. 

“God… what do you do in your sleep to get it like that?” Iwaizumi blurted out, eyes creasing up into slits. 

“Says the one with hair that defies gravity and spikes up weirdly,” Oikawa replied evenly, raising an eyebrow. “My hair, at least, can be styled to look good. Yours, on the other hand, is a hopeless case.” 

Iwaizumi finally sat up, running both hands back through his hair, once again spiking it up even more into messy bunches. 

“I can pull off this look, Oikawa. If you went out with that, Kuroo would have a field day.”

The thought made Iwaizumi break out into another smile, and Oikawa couldn’t help his lips mimicking the action. It was impossible to hold a grudge against someone smiling like that. 

“Kuroo doesn’t deserve to see the beauty of this,” Oikawa remarked, tossing the pillow back onto the bed. 

“I don’t anyone deserves to see that,” Iwaizumi snorted out. 

Oikawa suddenly regretted letting go of the pillow. Instead, he outstretched a hand and, as he walked across to his bag, smacked Iwaizumi sharply across the shoulder. The firmness which met his palm made him wonder if he’d even felt anything.

“I’m going to go and make myself even more beautiful,” Oikawa announced, rifling through his bag, bulging with clothes, hair products and everything he deemed necessary for one stay overnight. So, naturally, the bag was humongous. 

He had planned ahead for the morning, even brought pajamas, the alien ones that he hadn’t allowed himself to wear around anyone - apart from Mattsun and Makki - since he was sixteen. Iwaizumi already guessed about his hidden obsession, so he had decided to indulge himself. 

“Alright. I’m going to find Hiroka-san and sign myself out,” Iwaizumi answered, walking around the bed with a wide, sleepy yawn. “How long will you be?”

“Longer than you, but I’m sure I’ll manage to see you off safely. There are a lot of fire extinguishers lurking on hospital corners, you know. I’d better make sure none of them decide to target your poor, fragile skull again.” 

“I appreciate that,” Iwaizumi deadpanned, crouching down at his bag with the clothes he was wearing when he got knocked out. They’d do. “Now get out. I have to change.”

“Ooh, embarrassed, are we?” Oikawa teased as he whisked himself out the door with a quick flash of his tongue cheekily. 

Pulling out his jeans and shirt, Iwaizumi chewed on his lower lip, carefully. They were still there, the electric sensations he got when Oikawa smiled at him, or touched him in that flaunty, soft way. It wasn’t just because of the takeaway or the pretty fireworks. He had kind of half-heartedly hoped that maybe it was just the lighting, that he could blame it on the fact that nighttime had a sort of sway over that made things seem more attractive. Apparently, it didn’t work that way with Oikawa. That asshole was attractive all the damn time. 

Snorting at the thought, Iwaizumi straightened to tug off his hospital gown with a grateful sigh, glancing down quickly. Good, it looked like his injury was healing up nicely, he had been afraid that it might get infected, and so cleaned it every chance he could get. He was only finished yanking on his jeans when Oikawa flew back into the room, door banging against the wall behind it.

“I forgot my-”

Oikawa paused briefly as Iwaizumi froze, watching the way Oikawa’s gaze was gradually dragging down his shirtless chest. There was a fraction of a second, a mere breath of hesitation in the both of them where Iwaizumi tried furiously not to cover his entire torso with the shirt draped across his hands and Oikawa unashamedly eyed him up. Whether it was because of the still very evident wound across his torso or for other reasons Iwaizumi didn’t dare hope or think about, he didn’t know. 

“-hairbrush, Iwa-chan. Nice abs, by the way!” Oikawa called as he whisked by him to the locker beside the bed. “Not quite as chiselled as mine, but you’ll get there someday. I believe in you!”

“As if you could beat these,” Iwaizumi snorted out, and suddenly he could move again. 

He’d been shirtless in front of Oikawa before, after all, despite it being brief. It wasn’t a big deal. Stop overreacting, he wished the goosebumps prickling up his spine.

“Well,” Oikawa turned around quickly to wink at him. “-how would you know? You’ve never seen my shirtless. I could be totally ripped.”

“Please. You’re all gangly and tall,” Iwaizumi answered as he slipped his shirt on over his head and desperately trying not to picture Oikawa’s slender, toned body shirtless. “You can’t be tall and muscular. That’s just unfair.”

“I think you mean tall, muscular, and extremely handsome,” Oikawa corrected him, digging the hairbrush out of the drawer triumphantly. “Found it! And, in answer to your wrong statement, of course you can! I’m all of those things. I’m perfect, if you haven’t noticed by now.”

“Sure, sure, and that doesn’t sound narcissistic at all,” Iwaizumi drawled out, rolling his eyes heavily as Oikawa swept past him to halt just outside the door. 

“Narcissism is part of being flawless, Iwa-chan. I’ll have you know-” here Oikawa pointed his hairbrush at Iwaizumi, free hand on the side of his hips, one side angled downwards, -”that Beyonce wrote that song about me. I’m positive that she saw me play and was definitely like, ‘holy shit I need to write a song about how flawless he is’ and that’s how I inspired Beyonce.”

With that, and the satisfaction that he’d made his point, Oikawa flaunted back out, leaving Iwaizumi to wonder what the hell he’d gotten himself into. 

More precisely, exactly  _ who  _ he’d gotten into.

\-----

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure where to go to be discharged, so he made his way to Hiroka. She’d know. She knew everything about the hospital, and the five ones closest to this one. It was sort of magical, how gossip and informal knowledge that can’t be taught just seemed to gravitate towards her like dust to a massive hoover. Iwaizumi approached her, a fifty-something lady with glasses tipped down over her nose, frowning down at a sheet of paper. She glanced up as Iwaizumi neared her, breaking into a warm smile.

“Hajime! How are you?”

“Good,” Iwaizumi greeted her, resting his forearms on the top of the raised desk. “How are you doing?”

"Good, good, stressed as always. I trust that you caught the fireworks last night? Beautiful, weren't they?"

"Uh, yeah," Iwaizumi agreed, dismally thinking of how he spent the vast majority of the show gazing at Oikawa. "They were great."

Hiroka dipped down her face to examine him over the tops of her glasses, a move she always claimed made her look more intimidating. Hajime couldn't exactly disagree. She had the soul-staring look of a mother who already knew all of her son's secrets and was asking him just to find out if he'd tell her the truth.

"Great? Is that all you have to say on the matter, Hajime? I know you're not a rambler-not like me, or that boy Oikawa, I don't know how you two are friends, but he's a nice lad- but surely you have some more comments?"

"Nah," Iwaizumi said offhandedly, as if his heart didn't start beating quicker at the mere mention of Oikawa's name.

"Don't use that tone with me. Be more respectful towards your elders!"

She shot out her hand and playfully grabbed Iwaizumi's ear, clicking disapprovingly through her teeth. He instinctively winced, and she let go after a second, but her disappointed look didn't fade.

"Your mother raised you better than that. It's not 'nah', it's 'no, Hiroka-san.'"

"But you're always saying to leave off the san."

"Cheeky! Is this that boy's influence? My gut tells me it's him. I must have a stern word with him. I can't have you running around with any young fella. Especially not one that teaches you to disrespect your elders."

Hiroka was looking down and away from Iwaizumi, flipping through some paper on her desk.

"Sorry, Hiroka-san," Iwaizumi apologised. "I didn't mean to offend you."

She waved a hand, the stern look melting off her face as she smiled. "None taken. Who says us old folk can't mess around too? Now, you have to be formally discharged, correct? Why didn’t you wait a bit? I would’ve gotten Yaichi  to give it to you.”

"Yes, Hiroka-san," Iwaizumi replied in relief. “And I have work very soon. I can’t wait around for someone to come to me.”

"I keep telling you, the san isn't necessary."

"You'd just give out to me if I didn't use it."

"Hajime! I would not do such a thing!" Winking at him, Hiroka clicked a few times on her computer, then swivelled around to the printer, currently whirring noisily. She slapped a hefty hand against the side, clucking her tongue. "If this blasted thing is acting up again, I swear I'm going to go to the association myself and demand a new one. Oh, here we are!"

Rotating back to Iwaizumi promptly, she slid across a single sheet of paper.

"Read all of it. Sign there and out the date down when you're done."

After a few moments, Iwaizumi frowned, raising his head.

"What date is today?"

"Eighth of June. Oh, it's your birthday soon, isn't it? What are you doing? Say you're doing something this year, Hajime, or I'm going to arrange something for you."

"A friend said that they're planning a surprise party for me."

"Now, not much of a surprise if you know about it, is it?"

"I think he just let it slip accidentally."

"Was it that boy who's been in here every day to see you?"

"No. He's not really part of my friend group."

"Then what in God's name is he doing here? Should I have let him in yesterday evening? I thought he'd be a nice bit of company for you."

"No, he's my friend, he's just not friends with my friends yet."

"Ah, I see now! Maybe you should introduce them then?"

Iwaizumi hesitated for an instant, thinking of the times Oikawa and Kuroo have ran into each other. Maybe they’d gel together, and maybe they wouldn’t. He made a mental note to ask Akaashi what he thought later. He’d have a good idea of how Oikawa would - or wouldn’t - work in their friend group dynamic. He would discuss it with Kenma, who was even more accurate than Akaashi, but, to his knowledge, Kenma had never come across Oikawa in person, although he’d be able to guess regardless. 

"I'll bring him to my birthday party,” Iwaizumi decided, setting the pen down and sliding it back across the desktop . Once he consulted Akaashi. 

"Sounds like a lovely idea, Hajime. Now toddle off, we both have work to do. Make sure you drop in soon, okay?” She took the sheet, cast a quick scan over it, and nodded. “You’re good to go.” 

“Thanks, Hiroka-san,” Iwaizumi said with a little smile, stepping back.

“One more thing. You need to take it easy every now and then Hajime, you know? Driving yourself into the ground isn’t going to help anyone. You or your mother.”

“I know. You don’t have to keep telling me,” Iwaizumi breathed out, slightly irritated. He knew all of this already, and he didn’t push himself too hard. He hadn’t collapsed from exhaustion in months. He was taking care of himself.

“I have to keep telling you because I see you in here far too often, and for the wrong reasons,” Hiroka told him seriously, pushing up her glasses so they didn’t drop off the end of her nose. 

Iwaizumi barely held back an instinctive scowl, knowing she was only meaning to give him advice, but didn’t she understand that he did all he could to look after her mother? His well-being came second, as it should. He could live a few days without food or sleep. He could recover from any wounds he received living in that shitty place. His mother had no chance of recovering if her lights were turned off because Hajime could no longer afford the cost of keeping her breathing. 

“I’ll be fine,” Iwaizumi stated firmly, the edges of his mouth turned downwards. “You don’t have to worry about me. See you.”

However rude it might’ve been, he turned his back to her instantly, finishing the conversation. Hearing a deep sigh, Iwaizumi ignored it, striding back to his room purposefully. He had to get to work, and he definitely wasn’t going to let anything distract him.

\-----

Iwaizumi was beyond disbelief when he entered back into his room and a fully groomed Oikawa was present, lazing around on his bed, stretched out leisurely

"You're finished already?" He asked, completely surprised Oikawa could possibly get ready in that short space of time. He was dressed nicely too, in a simple check shirt and skinny jeans, and his bag was stuffed to the seams, dumped on the chair.

Oikawa huffed, barely glancing up from his phone. "When you're as popular as I am-not that you'll ever be at my level- you'll see that learning how to look amazing in a short space of time is very necessary. Of course, I already look amazing, so there's not much work to be done."

"Mm, sure." Hajime threw a second dubious glance over to Oikawa's bag, fearing the material would split at any second. He marvelled at how Oikawa was even able to zip it up. Then his gaze strayed to the pillow crushed underneath Oikawa's elbows, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was that there were originally two pillows on the bed. "Oikawa..."

"Yeah?"

"Are you trying to steal a pillow?" 

"Ooh, Iwa-chan, so observant! The nurse came in here and didn't notice a thing!"

"At least try to deny it," Iwaizumi muttered, crouching down to ease down the straining zip. The white material swelled from the gap Hajime had created, and he swiftly tugged it out, careful not to rip the covering. “Why, exactly, did you try to take a pillow?”

Oikawa shrugged. “Why not? My life needs some more excitement in it.”

“People here need them, Oikawa,” Hajime sighed out, tossing it back onto the bed. “Don’t be a dick.”

“What if I need it?” Oikawa questioned half-heartedly, rolling over onto his back, hair splaying out on the pillow. “What if I missed a chance to take a perfectly good pillow and regret it?”

“Jesus, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi heaved another sigh, shaking his head. “You’re not going to need another fucking pillow.”

“You don’t know that,” Oikawa argued back, flopping back onto his stomach and position himself sideways on the bed, watching Iwaizumi gather up all his things. “What’cha going to do now?”

“You know already,” Hajime told him, zipping his toothbrush and toothpaste away. “I gotta get to the factory for nine, and Hiroka wanted a chat so I'm running late already. I'll drop in for my other stuff after work. Oh, and I have to give that PSP back to Kindaichi."

Oikawa glanced up from his phone lazily. “Oh, I could do that. His place is on my way home.” 

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi responded, quietly amazed that Oikawa offered to do something without payment. 

“Great! Now you can owe me a favour,” Oikawa beamed at him, stretching out a hand to scoop up the paper bag Kindaichi had brought all the games in and what Iwaizumi had diligently put all of them back into.

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi stood up, straightening out all his creased clothing and praying he didn’t smell too much - he only had a shower yesterday, and he wasn’t exactly the type to never get a prickle of sweat on their skin. He sweated. A lot. In comparison, Oikawa still looked as clean and fresh as he did yesterday, when he’d first stepped into Iwaizumi’s room. It really wasn’t fair, and definitely not fair how Iwaizumi kept noticing his intrigued expression as he rooted through the paper bag, lips jutting outwards slightly and with a tiny uplift of his eyebrows. 

“Iwa-chan, you should finish out some of these games. I’m going to ask Kindaichi if you can borrow them for longer.”

“No,” Iwaizumi said solidly. “I barely have time to wash myself, never mind waste hours on that thing. He can have it back before you break it on him.”

“I don’t think I’d be the one breaking it,” Oikawa replied slyly, aiming a half-grin at Iwaizumi, whose heart didn’t speed up at all. “I’m not the one with mild anger issues here.”

“I don’t have anger issues, mild or not, “ Iwaizumi snapped, yanking down his sleeves to over the heels of his palms of his hands. “I need to go now, so clear out, alright? They probably need this room for somebody else.”

Bounding up from the bed to his feet, Oikawa saluted, a mocking smile on his face. “You got it. I’ll even walk you out, to protect you from any wild fire extinguishers.”

“That joke’s getting a little old now, don’t you think?” Iwaizumi asked him dryly as he slung the bag of his stuff over his shoulder, Oikawa following suite. He’d ask Hiroka to hold it for him at the desk, and collect it later. 

“Nope!” Oikawa sang out merrily. “I’m going to milk it for as long as possible. Where are you staying now anyway, by the way?”

“What do you mean?” Iwaizumi asked, brow furrowing as he lead the way down the corridor.

“I mean, you did sort out a new place to live, right?”

“No. Should I have?”

Oikawa looked over at Iwaizumi in astonishment, his lips parting in surprise. "You aren't seriously going back to that place, are you?"

"I am."

"But you got attacked!"

"Look, I can't afford anywhere else. I'll get some new locks and be more careful. It'll be fine."

"At least tell the police! They could arrest who did it and you'll be safe from them,” Oikawa insisted, his face twisting up in confusion and...a little bit of concern?

"I already told you, the police don't want to deal with that area."

"They have to! It's their job, Iwa-chan. You should know, you take work so seriously."

"I take it seriously because I need the money, Oikawa. If I call the police, they won't catch who did it. Everyone covers for everyone, and they'll have covered their tracks. If I bring police into this I'll likely get attacked again just because of that."

"That's....Iwa-chan, how can you live there?!"

Oikawa reached out his hand and grasped Iwaizumi’s arm, stopping him from moving into the entrance lobby. Rotating around, Iwaizumi avoided Oikawa’s outraged brown eyes, speaking flatly, gruffly as he shook off Oikawa’s hand quickly. He didn’t want the heat flaring up in his cheeks to show. 

"Don't have anywhere else."

"What about your mother's house?"

"Sold it. Couldn't legally work enough hours to work up enough for the bill, so I had to get money from somewhere. We weren't exactly the richest family to start with in the first place."

Oikawa hesitated for a second, wondering whether or not to ask the next question on his mind. It might be sensitive 

“What about your father?”

“Dunno.”

“You don’t know anything about him?”

“Nah.” Iwaizumi shrugged, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time. “Now, are you finished questioning me? I can’t waste any more time.”

Oikawa nodded, the fear that he might’ve pushed too far engulfing him in its tight grip, but one look at the slope of Hajime’s shoulders as he rotated way reassured him. Iwaizumi wasn’t mad at him. Apparently it was just like he said ; he had work to get to, and couldn’t stay around to chat any longer. Grooming a hand back through his hair, Oikawa reminded himself firmly that, with Iwaizumi, he didn’t need to overthink about what he was feeling or if he’d said something wrong. Iwaizumi was straightforward. What Oikawa heard and saw was exactly what he got. Breathing out in relief, Oikawa hung back as Iwaizumi handed in his bag to the elderly receptionist, offering her a pleasant smile and a wave when she looked his way. 

“Alright,” Hajime told him as he returned to him, hands slung into the depths of his pockets. “Come on, let’s go now.”

“I’m flattered that you want to walk the twenty metres to the door with me,” Oikawa grinned slyly over at him, but Iwaizumi refused to meet his gaze, instead tilting his face away from him.

“It wasn’t as if I was just going to walk off. That’d be rude,” Iwaizumi responded, rubbing the back of his neck with a slight grimace. 

“Aw, so now you’re suddenly afraid of being rude? How cute,” Oikawa said with a definite lilt in his voice, nudging his shoulder against Hajime’s slightly lower one.

This time, Iwaizumi turned his head to glare at him steadily, to which Oikawa stuck out his tongue at. “Name one time I’ve been rude to you.”

“You shoved me off the bed lots of times, you tell me to shut up, and plus you’re just grumpy,” Oikawa replied with a hurt pout. “You should really treat your friends better, Iwa-chan.”

“You deserved it. You were being a little shit every time I did that. And it’s not as if you’re going to shut up, no matter how often I tell you, sadly.”

“See what I mean? Rude!”

At this point, they were standing outside the large automatic doors, people streaming into the building’s main entrance around them. Iwaizumi shifted around on the balls of his feet and glanced around, finally jabbing his thumb over his shoulder.

“I gotta go that way.”

“And I’m heading that way,” Oikawa said, pointing over to his right. “Kin-kun will be delighted to see me, I’m sure.”

“Tell him hello from me, alright? And I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Obviously!” Oikawa beamed at him, and blew all of Hajime’s uncertainty away effortlessly. 

“Yeah,” came out of Iwaizumi’s mouth, and he winced. “Well...I need to run now. See you.”

“See you!” Oikawa answered as he walked away with a wave, so chipper and upbeat that Iwaizumi wondered how he could keep that up. Maybe it was a lasting effect of being in the spotlight for so long, that he couldn’t act anything but lighthearted and merry all of the time. Frowning, Iwaizumi continued on his path to the factory. Maybe it was just him, but he had thought that that parting smile and words were sincere. 

Or maybe it was just him hoping that Oikawa really meant it when he said that they’d see more of each other.

Stop being stupid, Iwaizumi barked at himself. We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends see each other regularly.

The thought - and the inarguable  truth ingrained in it -  sent a flow of relief through Hajime’s chest, and he nodded his head in time to the pace of his feet on the concrete. 

Yeah, that’s right. He will see Oikawa again. Stop worrying about it. 

The idea that he’d see him again that very night never passed through his mind.

\----

Sauntering up to Kindaichi’s door, Oikawa pressed the button and waited, tapping his feet on the ground patiently. After a few minutes and some more ringing, the foot tapping became very impatient, and his foot was starting to ache. Oikawa thought about leaving, but then thought about having to come back another day to drop it over. With a groan, Oikawa tried the handle out of frustration, and to his complete surprise, it opened freely, letting a sliver of a familiar voice waft through.

“-over him?”

“I don’t know….”

“Helloooo!” Oikawa called out airily, stepping into the apartment casually. 

He heard hasty scrambling from the room beside him, which he presumed to be the sitting room, and soon Kindaichi appeared in the doorway, cheeks dark and coloured.

“Sorry, the doorbell doesn’t - Oikawa-san! I wasn’t expecting you,” Kindaichi said, blinking rapidly as if he thought it might be a hallucination. “What are you doing here?”

“Lovely to see you too, Kindaichi,” Oikawa answered cheerfully, craning his neck to see beyond the lanky man into the room behind him. “Do you have a friend over? I just came to return your PSP and all that stuff, but I think I have time for a quick chat too. I’d love to catch up with my favourite past kouhai. Oh, hello, Kunimi!” 

Catching a glimpse of the sullen man lounging back on the couch, Oikawa waved at him over Kindaichi’s shoulder, which was received with a short nod. 

“Uh, thanks,” Kindaichi told him, taking the bag from his hands and setting it down in the hallway. “I’m assuming Iwaizumi-san’s out of hospital already then?”

“He is indeed,” Oikawa confirmed airily, sweeping past Kindaichi to gracefully lower himself down into an arm chair. “Ooh, nice furnishings, Kin-kun! I didn’t know you had such great taste in curtains.”

Kindaichi’s blush deepened as he sat down next to Kunimi, scratching just below his ear in embarrassment. “Well, my mom’s an interior designer, so she helped out a bit…”

Oikawa silenced him with a purposeful wave of his hand, grinning in way that made a sense of unease settle into everyone else in the room. 

“Small talk over. What were you talking about when I came in? That sounded interesting. Let me guess-” here Oikawa winked at Kindaichi, “-about your little problematic crush, am I right? Don’t tell me. I’m right, aren’t I?”

Kindaichi’s furious blush was more than enough to confirm Oikawa’s guess. His grin grew wider, and Kunimi sighed lengthily. 

“We would appreciate it if you didn’t spread this around. Or torture Kindaichi too much.”

Oikawa frowned, laying a wounded hand over his heart. “I’m not that awful, Kunimi-chan. I do have a heart! I knew about it since that night in the bar, and I haven’t told a single soul. Makki and Mattsun already knew, and so did Iwa-chan.”

“Iwaizumi-san knows?!” Kindaichi burst out, his horrified expression even making Oikawa’s cold soul feel a spark of pity. 

“Not exactly,” Oikawa half-lied, to reassure him. “He only thinks you look up to him as a spiker. He’s much too dense to recognise your feelings for him. Although, Kin-kun, I have to tell you, you do make it quite easy to pick up on.”

Kindaichi bent over, his face aflame and covered over by his hands, as Kunimi patted his back comfortingly. 

“So what do you suggest Kindaichi does, Oikawa-san?” Kunimi inquired, with a gaze that told Oikawa not to fuck around. 

Oikawa gave him a little smirk back, just to show him he knew about both of their crushes, and reclined back more on the armchair.

"Hold on," Oikawa announced, plucking out his phone and tapping on it purposefully. "I need backup for this, as experienced as I am in matters of the heart."

"Who are you texting?" Kindaichi's face was pale, draining of what little colour he had. Kunimi cast a quick, half-interested gaze over Oikawa and leaned against Kindaichi's side, reassuring him, "He's not texting Iwaizumi-san." Oikawa's eyebrows rose just a slight fraction at the obvious comfort Kindaichi received from the touch, but chose not to comment. Yet, anyway. "I wouldn't be that cruel," he complained. "Iwa-chan's at work now, anyways."

Kunimi's gaze rested on him a second longer than usual, and Oikawa thought he was about to ask him how he knew Iwaizumi's schedule for a moment.

"So who are you calling over?" Kindaichi's voice was laced with trepidation.

"Makki and Mattsun, of course," Oikawa said cheerfully. "I texted Suga-kun too, but he hasn't responded yet, so he's probably with Sawamura."

"You call that not being cruel." Kunimi's tone was flatter than Yaichi's chest.

Oikawa faked a hurt expression, offended on behalf of the duo. "Harsh, Kun-kun. They're-"

"Kun-kun?"

"-not so bad! At times, they can even be helpful! They just have the best intentions to help Kin-kun, as I do."

Kunimi still looked dubious - or perhaps that was only his normal gaze, Oikawa could barely tell, Kunimi was so guarded - but Kindaichi brightened instantly, a hopeful smile spreading over his slender face. 

"I do need some help," he admitted, lacing his fingers together and glancing down into his lap. And however hard Kunimi was to read, Oikawa didn't mistake the slight twitch of his hand towards a shy Kindaichi's, or the will to comfort him. If I wasn't here, Oikawa thought, his hand would be on his knee, or maybe even squeezing his. Maybe Kunimi - Oikawa was pretty certain he was right about this guess - was not a verbal type of affection-giver. Little physical touches gave it away, Oikawa guessed further. Perhaps they had been going on so long that Kindaichi had completely gotten used to them, completely missed what they really meant. Because there was no way in hell Kunimi was going to spell it out plainly to him. Sighing, Oikawa slung an arm back over the back of the chair, earning him two curious gazes - one very suspicious, and rightly so.

"God, the two of you are hopeless."

"Two?" Kindaichi asked slowly, unsurely.

Kunimi glowered at Oikawa so intensely he was honestly surprised that the couch didn't erupt into flames and swallow him alive. 

"I think he means that we've both done a terrible job handling this," Kunimi explained calmly, smoothing out his expression as Kindaichi glanced over to him. 

"Oh, now I see. Well, you're not wrong, Oikawa-san," he chuckled out awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I tried to confess to him, and I ended up telling him about a surprise party we had planned for him."

"You tried to confess to him?!" Oikawa couldn't keep the contempt out of his voice. "What are you, a middle school girl? Adults don't confess, Kin-kun. God, you really do need my help."

He paused for a second, then visibly lost his stern tone and cold expression as what Kindaichi said first sunk in. 

“Iwa-chan’s birthday party? His birthday is soon?”

“Yeah,” Kindaichi answered, his joined hands snapping this way and that. “In two days. The tenth of June. I still don’t know what to get him.”

“He didn’t tell me! I’m so offended,” Oikawa huffed out, but quickly returned to focus on the subject at hand. “So, how strongly do you feel about our dear Iwa-chan?”

“Very,” Kindaichi mumbled.

Oikawa arched an eyebrow. “That isn’t a scale. Would you kiss him, suck his dick or fuck him?”

If it was possible for Kindaichi to go redder, his face would’ve been the colour of the floor of a slaughterhouse right after a fresh arrival of pigs.

Cheery metaphor, Oikawa thought briefly. What happened to tomatoes?

“I’d definitely kiss him,” Kindaichi finally answered, then fiddled with his thumbs. “And for the second option, only if he asked me to. I wouldn’t...initiate anything.”

“Have more confidence!” Oikawa gestured flamboyantly with his hand, flicking his wrist. “Particularly with Iwa-chan, you need to be bold about your flirting and moves. He isn’t going to pick up on it otherwise.”

There were noises outside Kindaichi’s door then, a lot of rustling, shuffling and stomping as the door was flung open mercilessly a few moments later, not even giving Kindaichi time to get up off of the couch. 

"We're here, my hoes," Makki announced as the duo strode into the room, plopping down together into one armchair, Makki slouched comfortably in Mattsun's lap.

"I thought I was your one and only hoe," came Matsukawa's slightly muffled, mock hurt voice.

"You're my number one hoe, babe. Oik's just a side bitch, I swear."

"Don't use such language in front of the children," Matsukawa chided, placing a palm over his mouth as Oikawa threw a pillow at Makki with an indignant, "I'm nobody's side bitch! I'm always the main one!"

"Children?" Kindaichi questioned, hopelessly bemused. It was like he was fifteen again, not twenty. Kunimi gave him a look like, “don’t question them. It’ll only get weirder if you do.”

Matsukawa grinned wickedly across at a mildly amused Kindaichi and a completely uninterested Kunimi over Makki's shoulder. 

"Betcha missed this, a throwback to some good ol' third year banter."

"No," came Kunimi's flat answer. Kindaichi opted for a more diplomatic approach, with, "I suppose the time where we spent an entire training using hula-hoops was fun."

"See? Told you they enjoyed it," Makki grinned out. "Aren't I a genius?"

"What about the time you set the equipment room on fire?" Oikawa deadpanned. "That was a little less fun."

"Just as fun," Makki insisted. "Only a few of the hula hoops melted, so it was all good."

"We had to replace four of the baseball club's bats."

"But my idea for a fundraiser was also genius." 

"My idea," Mattsun cut in. “Give me the credit.”

"Both of our ideas. We came up with it together, remember?”

"At least 80% mine."

"60%." 

"78%." 

"Fine, 75% your idea." 

"Done."

Oikawa rolled his eyes heavily. "A shirtless car wash was hardly original."

"Worked, didn't it? Man, your fangirls were wild."

"If we had Iwa-chan there we would've made twice the amount," Oikawa mumbled absently.

Makki and Mattsun instantly latched onto the possible story behind it. "Oh ho ho, has someone seen some action?"

"You've seen Iwaizumi-san shirtless?" Kindaichi's voice was a mixture of excitement and longing despair.

“Haven’t you?” Oikawa fired back at him casually. “Don’t you train with him? Haven’t you taken a little peek in the locker rooms?”

“I’ve only seen his back,” Kindaichi admitted slowly. “I haven’t had the courage to talk to him so he’d turn around. I was always afraid of freezing up and making a fool out of myself.”

Oikawa pointed a slender finger at him in a classic “ah-ha!” moment. “See, there’s your problem. Take those risks! Who cares if you freeze up? Worst case scenario, you get to stare at his abs while he stands there confused. It’s a win-win situation, really.”

"Don't listen to Oikawa,” Matsukawa slipped in instantly. “He called us because he's incapable of staying in a relationship longer than a week. He can tell you how to get into one, but not how to stay in it.”

"I've stayed in relationships longer than a week!" Oikawa protested. “Like….a whole two!”

"Anyway, we're experts at being gay-"

"Fantastically gay," Makki added in.

"-so you can ask us anything," Matsukawa finished. "Think of us like your gay uncles."

"I think the question that applies here," Kunimi began slowly. "Is that what if someone's too dense to notice your feelings towards them?"

Oikawa caught the way his knees drew together tightly, nervously, and resisted the urge to smirk. You're taking advantage of the situation, I see, he thought smugly. Iwa-chan isn't the only oblivious one when it comes to feelings.

Afterwards, he'd reflect on how ironic that thought was.

"This guy, right here," Hanamaki announced loudly, prodding Mattsun in his nose, squishing it up. "Is the most dense being alive when it came to his own feelings. I shoved my hands down his shorts on several occasions and he still didn't get the message. I mean, how much more obvious can you get? I want to get into your pants. Let me put my hands down your shorts and grope your ass. Friends don't do that, or offer to platonically suck your dick so often-"

"We get it, we get it," Oikawa interrupted him, a palm covering his face. "Mattsun's an idiot, so tell us the point, please?"

Makki grinned devilishly across at Kindaichi, and then to Kunimi. Maybe he picked up on the fact that he wasn't just advising one of them. "To get to the morale of the story, kids, fucking go for it. You'll be waiting around forever otherwise."

"That's not quite right," Mattsun corrected, tightening his arms around his waist. "Make sure you have a good friendship first, or it might be weird. With us, it was easy, because we've been best friends since forever." 

Matsukawa's gaze flickered over to Kunimi for a mere second, and Oikawa knew he'd picked up on the same thing he had long ago. 

“I’m trying to work on it,” Kindaichi said, as Kunimi nodded. 

Oikawa jumped in helpfully, with, "He said that he wouldn't fuck him, which I don't understand. I'd totally fuck Iwa-chan."

Makki exchanged a glance with Mattsun. "Are we holding an intervention for the wrong person here?"

"I don't know," Mattsun said thoughtfully. "Maybe a double intervention is in order."

Oikawa’s hands flailed around for a moment before finding the comfort of his hair, anxiously combing out the sides. He really hadn’t intended to say that. It had just slid right out past his lips, and he’s realising that it wasn’t really long. Iwaizumi was undeniably hot, and Oikawa’s sleeping-around standards, he had to admit, had dropped a lot lower before. But he wouldn’t fuck Iwaizumi. Not really. It’d just ruin their friendship.

“Hello? Earth to Oikawa, you’re still fucking gay, get over it already.”

A large palm belonging to Makki was waving in his face, and Oikawa blinked, swatting the hand away in irritation. 

“I’d fuck a lot of people. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Would you fuck me?” Matsukawa asked curiously, as Hanamaki twisted back around, slinging his arms around his neck as he narrowed his eyes. “Hypothetically. I’ve got a bae.”

“I noticed,” Oikawa drawled out sarcastically, eying up Matsukawa’s form -  or what he could see beneath Makki’s writhing body - and decided.

“Probably. After a full bottle of vodka.”

“What about me?” Makki jumped in.

“Half a bottle of vodka.”

“Ha, I’m more fuckable than you.”

“By Oik’s standards. Which aren’t very reliable.”

“Still hotter than you.”

“Mm, I think we’re both plenty hot, don’t you agree?”

Matsukawa started leaning in towards Hanamaki’s face with a slight grin on his lips, so Oikawa rolled his eyes and idly stuck a finger down his throat, looking away before they got too gross.

“Back to the reason why we’re here, you disgusting men. Kin-kun requires help. Quite a lot of help.”

“Oh. Right,” Hanamaki grinned out, giving Matsukawa a quick peck on the lips. “Later, babe.”

Kunimi looked like he had entirely given up on trying to communicate with the others in any sort of rational way, where Kindaichi just appeared slightly uncomfortable. They both were well used to it, which was sort of sad, when you thought about it. 

“You’re holding a party for his birthday, right?” Oikawa inquired, and Kindaichi nodded. “So use that to get closer to him, or get him drunk! Both are pretty much the same thing, anyways! Then hook up with him-”

“Don’t hook up with him,” Matsukawa cut in, with Hanamaki’s supportive nodding. “Not if you want a relationship. Bad, bad way of going about it.”

“Agreed,” Kunimi submitted quietly. “Take it slow.”

“Fine, disregard my advice then,” Oikawa complained, slumping back into the armchair with his arms crossed over his chest. “Go ahead and sort this out without me.”

“We will,” Makki told him, and then addressed Kindaichi seriously. “He’s going to need a lot of work. Are you sure you want to invest so much time and emotion in him?”

Kindaichi nodded. “If you knew Iwaizumi-san, you wouldn’t be asking me that.”

Oikawa hated it, but he agreed completely. Iwa-chan was worth the time, effort, and emotion. Not that he had any interest in him that way. Because he didn’t. 

He also hated the fact that the conversation carried on easily without him, and that the meme duo actually had some good, solid advice on relationships to offer. Oikawa didn’t even know half the stuff that was coming out of their mouths. Since he’d never stayed long in a relationship, he had no idea the amount of effort and compromise that went into one. From the sounds of it, even Makki and Mattsun - best friends for years, a PDA match made in heaven - had issues sometimes, of which Oikawa had no idea. That particularly ticked him off, that he’d judged the relationship between the two people he’d known the longest wrong. Oikawa found himself listening intently, storing away the advice in his mind safely. He’d never really worked hard at anything except volleyball, and, honestly, a relationship kind of sounded similar. A hell of a lot of effort, but the rewards were definitely worth all the hardship. His fists clenched as he thought of Ushijima. He never achieved his reward, all the effort broken by a single stupid fucking choice. 

Shaking his head, Oikawa tried to focus on the conversation, tuning back in unsuccessfully. His mind kept transporting him back to that time, back to the very instant he realised that he’d gotten caught doping. Chewing the side of his lip - the skin was beginning to curl off against his teeth - he straightened, beaming at everyone in the room.

“It’s been lovely seeing all of you again, but I’m afraid I have other things to do. I’ll see you again soon, I’m sure!”

“Bye,” Kunimi said.

“Goodbye, Oikawa-san. I’ll show you out,” Kindaichi, ever the polite child, stood up, but Oikawa quickly gestured to him to stop.

“It’s fine, Kin-kun! I can walk myself to the door!”

He let out a tittering laugh, and both Matsukawa and Hanamaki frowned.

“Oiks?”

“See you!” Oikawa waved, breezing rapidly out of the room and out Kindaichi’s front door. 

Then, he allowed his grin to drop, all the tenseness finally showing in his body. He came to a full stop once clear of any view from Kindaichi’s windows, his hands flying up to grip around some strands of his hair, clenching, tugging, twisting. With a gigantic effort, Oikawa managed to still his hands, bouncing on the balls of his feet, nervous and frustrated energy jumping through him. With another second passing by, Oikawa managed to detangle his fingers out of his messed-up hair, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it up shakily.  Starting to walk, his pace quick with overly long strides, Oikawa veered abruptly towards his apartment, wanting to get there as fast as humanly possible. Or maybe he should head to the bar. A glance at his phone told him that no matter how he put it to the bartender, he’d only come across as someone craving. Only alcoholics turned up at the pub at ten am.  Technically, he was lusting after a drink, but, unlike most alcoholics, he had a reason. Or thought he did. Whatever he said to himself to justify it. 

He wasn't an alcoholic; although not far enough away from one for any of his friends to be comfortable with his drinking. Instead, it welled up carefully, drop by drop, every drop containing an incident that stomped down on his mental scales. A scale that dictated when he needed a drink and when he was only waiting until the time he needed a drink. One half of the scales always filled up faster than the other, and once that half touched the bottom Oikawa broke once again. The bottom of the other half of the balance had never reached the edge-not that Oikawa could recall, and not that he cared. It would never happen. Sometimes, like his sister calling him that night, the "drink" half would almost be brushing off the bottom when it rose again, the other side weighed down by a thankful intervention.

Hearing Kageyama's name on the radio always slammed one side down, hard. Drink. No one, two, three. No countdown, no warning. Give me a drink, now.

Sometimes the scales stilled for entire weeks, and sometimes he allowed himself to hope that he was recovering.

At other times though, the scales were shifting constantly, one end banging down every day. This usually happened during competition season. He'd stand in front of the tv, just stand with a glass in one hand and a bottle in the other. Sometimes even without the glass. Why bother with the middle man? 

Breathing heavily, Oikawa stumbled across his threshold, shocked at how fast his legs had carried him back home. That had to be a new record - not that he ever took note of the time - but right at this moment, he cared even less. He didn’t even stop to mentally pat himself on the back before tossing the cigarette aside into the ashtray in the hallway, not bothering to lock the door behind him and making a beeline straight to the cupboard with the worn handle.

Drink.

\-----

Iwaizumi sighed, adjusting his bag of stuff slung over his shoulder. He was glad that he didn’t have another shift in the factory until Thursday, it really wasn’t his preferred job. Yet it paid pretty alright, so he kept it. He wasn’t exactly in a position to turn down any work.

There was a moment of wariness when Iwaizumi approached his apartment. It was exactly the way he'd left it, except for the fact that either Kyoutani or Yahaba apparently shut the door after themselves. The crowbar marks stood out as ugly and as unwanted as ever, deep and forced. Outstretching his fingers with a grimace, Iwaizumi pushed cautiously at the door, and it swung inwards steadily. With a low groan from the door, Iwaizumi shuffled carefully into his apartment, ears straining for any sort of noise. Yes, the first attackers were long gone, but others would've ridden their coattails, stealing anything that they could from the place. And, from the looks of it, he was right. Walking throughout the place, his heart dropped lower and lower with every step. Pictures vanished off of the walls, any and all medication or cleaning products from the bathroom, fucking pots and pans - hell, he didn't even have a fridge anymore. He should've asked Kyoutani to put in some new locks and he'd repay him later, but he wasn't sure if that would've made any difference. Once people knew for certain that there was nobody there, it didn't matter if there were locks present or not. His smashed television was still there, unsurprisingly. Nobody would rob that piece of shit. Or his clothes, apparently. Frowning, Iwaizumi took in his bedroom, even plainer than it was before. His laptop and dumbbells were gone, of course, and his clothes were skewed our all over the floor, but most of them looked like they were there. Nobody wanted worn clothing that they'd likely only burn, apparently. Breathing out a sigh of relief - and trying to breathe out his unsettlement at seeing his room in this state - Iwaizumi stooped down, straightening up his dresser and gathering up his clothes. It took him all of three minutes - he didn’t have many to start with in the first place.

Just as he was finishing up, a knock sounded throughout his apartment. Squinting his eyes, Iwaizumi straightened. That wasn’t a Kyoutani knock. It could be Yahaba, but he doubted it. Trying to ignore the feeling of unease swelling up in him, Iwaizumi walked warily into the hallway, just as the knocker got impatient and opened the unlocked door. Hajime recognised the short, flabby and generally very unpleasant man instantly. His landlord. He’d somehow managed to avoid any encounters with him since he’d moved in four years ago - Iwaizumi Hajime had been the perfect tenant, up to now. 

“Hello,” Iwaizumi said, and the man’s mustache twitched. 

“I’m assuming you didn’t check your mail.”

“Shit, I forgot,” Iwaizumi cursed. “I’ve only come back from work now. Why?”

“Mm, I thought so. Here,” he told him, outstretching his hand with an envelope in it with a smile Iwaizumi really didn’t like the look of. “Cost of damages.”

“Damages? How come I have to pay for some assholes breaking into your apartment?”

He shrugged, a motion that reminded Hajime of the way a slug moves across concrete.

“Way it is, buddy.”

Iwaizumi glowered at him briefly, before ripping open the envelope in his hands and scanning down it briefly. 

“Two hundred and thirty thousand?!”

"Shouldn't be an issue if you got insurance."

Iwaizumi tried to smooth out the scowl engraved in his face, but couldn’t. He didn’t have fucking insurance, and both of them knew it. 

"I don't. Don't you? Isn't it compulsory for landlords?"

"Nah. Buddy, like the letter says, you had four days, including today, and then you're out if you can't give me the cash."

Iwaizumi narrowed his gaze. "This isn't because Kyoutani broke your brother's nose, is it?"

"Of course not!" He barked, chest swelling up. "It's because my entire fucking apartment is wrecked and I got no money to fix it up with!"

"Then give me time, and I'll get you the money." Iwaizumi reasoned out, trying to keep his voice steady and diplomatic. Losing his temper here wouldn’t help him at all. 

"Weren't you just in the hospital, bud? How're ya gonna pay that and the damage cost?"

Iwaizumi felt himself hesitate, then cursed inwardly. He did have a point, god damn it. How was he supposed to juggle that, this, and of course the regular weighty bill that came in every month? "I'll work something out."

"You had four days, buddy. I'd get packing if I were you."

Iwaizumi's jaw clenched tightly, solidly. The man shrugged nonchalantly, yet his ever so slight smile gave away his pleasure. His pleasure at avenging his brother's injury by a legal way, completely clean and within his rights. There wasn’t a damn thing Iwaizumi could do about it.

"I gave you plenty of notice. Ain't my fault if you didn't get anyone to pick up your mail for you."

"And what if I refuse to leave?"

The tiny, satisfied smile widened ever so slightly. "Then I'll have to forcibly evict you."

His smile said do it. Resist. Give me an excuse.

"That'll never hold up in court." Iwaizumi bluffed, hoping there was some way he could wrestle more time out of him, enough time for him to get a loan, an extra job or something, anything to keep his apartment. He was absolutely certain he wouldn’t get one this cheap, and the extra rent would put even more strain on his finances that he really didn’t need.

"Oh, so you got money for a lawyer but not for me?"

“That’s-”

Iwaizumi faltered, cursing the fact that he’s right. He didn’t have money for either, and taking this guy to court - with a case Iwaizumi wasn’t even sure of, did landlords have a right to throw out their tenants with this little knowledge? - would mean he’d need to take time out of work, too. Which he definitely couldn’t afford. 

“You’re awfully quiet. I take it that you’ll be out of here by midnight then, buddy?”

Iwaizumi couldn’t help his lips curling up, his fists clenching by his sides, a helpless, cornered feeling overpowering him. Where the fuck was he supposed to go? 

“I’ll see you in an hour or so,” the man drawled out, moving past Iwaizumi and patting his shoulder as he went. 

It took all of Iwaizumi’s self-control not to whirl back around and drive his fist into his face, give him a nice little foundation in the middle of his face to match his brother’s. 

With one last hard swallow, Iwaizumi stalked into his - the - apartment, mind already setting forward to plan exactly what the fuck he was going to do.

\-----

**Hedgehog-chan:** Kuroo I need somewhere to crash for tonight

**Kuroo** : aw u still use crash seriously that is adorable

**Hedgehog-chan** : Kuroo, I'm serious. My landlord is kicking me out if I can't pay the damage cost by midnight. And if I do that, there’s no way I can pay off the hospital costs as well.

**Kuroo** : what

jfc ok right my place is crowded atm but well make room for you somewhere I got u

**Hedgehog-chan** : Crowded? Isn't it just you and Kenma?

**Kuroo** : bokuto forced his way in nd akaashi kind of followed him to make sure he didnt break anything also yuuji is here too kind of upset for some reason nd i couldnt abandon the child

**Hedgehog-chan** : Oh, god. I'm not going to fit, am I? Your apartment's already small as it is.

**Kuroo** : ill kick bokuto out and akaashi will leave willingly by himself ill make room

**Hedgehog-chan** : But it's almost eleven .

**Kuroo** : yeah so

**Hedgehog-chan** : I keep forgetting you live in an area where it's okay to go out after eleven.

**Kuroo** : ill even drive them home but what are you going to do with your stuff

**Hedgehog-chan** : I don't have much anymore, but your apartment really is small...

**Kuroo** : three dots ok whatcha thinking

**Hedgehog-chan** : I know someone with a big apartment and no roommates. Hold on.

**Kuroo** : oh the suspense

ure not  ditching me for the douchebag who keeps insulting my hair are u

iwaizumi?

iwa?

reply

i apologise for that one time i reported u to the guards for having spiky hair

its not an actual crime

it was a joke

is that what u wanted to hear

im sorry for suggesting we put a spiderman lunchbox w wires hanging out the sides in some random guys car i was drunk

ok i wasnt rly but still

iwaizumi

did u get hit w a fire extinguisher again

do i need to call yahaba bc kyoutanis scary nd get him to check on u he will be at kyo-kuns place anyway

iwaIZUMI

**Hedgehog-chan** : No, no. Thanks, Kuroo, but it's all sorted out now.

**Kuroo** : u arent going w that egotistical dick are u

**Hedgehog-chan** : I am. He's willing to take me in until I can find another place. Well, he was a dick about it, but I didn’t really expect otherwise. 

**Kuroo** : i feel so betrayed

**Hedgehog-chan** : I'd stay with you if you had room, but you don't.

**Kuroo** : i can shove kenma into the wardrobe hes so tiny he fits in there plus theres a hole in the wall where he can plug his ds in he will be fine as long as he doesnt have to interact w anyone

**Hedgehog-chan** : We both know you're not going to do that. It's okay.

**Kuroo** : i still cant believe ur gonna stay w him i know hes been in the hospital constantly w u but u know him like a week and a bit

**Hedgehog-chan** : We've seen each other every day since we met bar one, and we haven't fought yet, so I think it'll be okay.

**Kuroo** : damn thats like me nd kenma 

**Hedgehog-chan** : Except with less gay denial.

**Kuroo** : shut up im getting there

slowly 

at my own pace

**Hedgehog-chan:** Whatever you say. I have to pack up my stuff now, though, so see you.

**Kuroo:** see u 

dont get attacked again

tell that douchebag to fuck off too

\----

Five boxes. That was all that Iwaizumi's undestroyed belongings amounted to. It was sort of sad, really. That he could pack up the entire contents of five years in less than a single hour, with nothing left to do but wait and stare at said contents. Iwaizumi sat down on the couch, then felt weird, and stood up again, restlessly pacing to the hallway, through the boxes on the floor. He was saved from doing another round by his phone vibrating in his pocket.

 

**the perfect one:** mattsun will be there in a few minutes yahaba gave him directions

**iwa-chan:** Thanks. And thanks for doing all of this.

**the perfect one:** nb but you should rly get in the car w him he's not that bad a driver I stg

**iwa-chan:** No. I'll walk.

**the perfect one:** whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

**iwa-chan:** Stop whining.

**the perfect one:** i'm not whininggggggg

i'm just worried about my iwachan

**iwa-chan:** I'll be fine.

**the perfect one:** whatever. just make it here without getting stabbed or with your head bashed in

**iwa-chan:** Trust me, I'll try my very best.

**the perfect one:** you better!!!

 

Iwaizumi couldn’t help a little crooked smile escaping. Oikawa was strangely sweet sometimes, when he wasn’t being a cocky little prick. And after all the gloating he did on the phone about Iwa-chan finally admitting to needing his help and how there was no way in hell he was getting the bed. 

 

**iwa-chan:** Just to warn you in advance, I’m starving. I’ll pick up some ingredients on the way to your place, but I’m going to need to use your kitchen.

**the perfect one:** nooo i’m gonna cook smth for you

**iwa-chan** : You can cook?

**the perfect one:** i can try and that’s just as good

**iwa-chan:** That’s not very reassuring.

**the perfect one:** just trust me!!! It’s gonna be delicious!!

**iwa-chan:** What are you making then?

**the perfect one:** dunno yet i tend to just chuck in what i can find

**iwa-chan:** Please don’t cook. I’m getting a bad feeling about this. 

**the perfect one:** it’s ok makki put the fire out before it spread too much last time

and i think i replaced the fire blanket

i think

anyways it’s all g!!

**iwa-chan:** Do not touch the cooker. 

 

As alarmed as he was already, Iwaizumi started as his phone began vibrating in his hands, Matsukawa’s name flashing up on the screen. He must be outside, Iwaizumi reasoned, and fired off a quick text to Oikawa.

 

**iwa-chan:** Matsukawa’s here. I’ll see you soon.

**the perfect one:** see you, iwa-chan!!!

\---

The loading up only took a few minutes, and Iwaizumi’s stark farewell to his apartment keys and his landlord only took a few seconds. 

“Are you sure you don’t want a lift?” Matsukawa asked him through the driver’s window.

Iwaizumi shook his head firmly. “I’ll walk. I need the exercise.”

Matsukawa’s sharp gaze flitted over Iwaizumi’s body for a second, clearly seeing through the shit excuse. “Look, it’s your choice. Although I owe you one. It’s because of you this heap of shit is working in the first place.”

“It’s fine,” Iwaizumi insisted, shaking his head. “And it’s my job. You don’t owe me one, especially after moving my stuff.”

“Would hardly call this anything, but fine. I’ll see you at Oikawa’s then.”

Iwaizumi nodded once more, stepping away from the car and raising a hand in farewell as Matsukawa rolled back up his window. Iwaizumi started off as Matsukawa struggled with trying to stop Hanamaki from fucking up the ignition again. Tracing over the route in his head - he’d only walked this way once before, after all, and that was with Oikawa, he hadn’t been paying much attention at all - Iwaizumi sucked on the inside of his cheek. Okay. He thought he had it, and if he was stuck,he could always ring Oikawa for directions. The walk would probably take around an hour or so if he hurried, so, not the worst. If only it was earlier, Iwaizumi would be less nervous. Shrugging his unease down, he continued on his way, about to break through the area with mounting amounts of people, all gathered around the vibrant nightclub and stripclub signs.

For a second, Iwaizumi thought that he saw Oikawa's hair, shining under a streetlight. Then the form passed quickly through a dark spot, and he shook it off. His imagination, nothing else. At least, he thought so until Oikawa pulled up right beside him, a bike parked beneath him.

"Heyy, Iwa-chan! Surprised to see me?"

"Very surprised," Iwaizumi replied starkly. "I didn't know you owned a bike."

"You didn't know that I didn't, either," Oikawa pointed out, hopping off and turning it around to patter along beside Iwaizumi.

"That's true," Iwaizumi admitted with a half-smile. He was glad that Oikawa was here. “Why’d you come?”

“I couldn’t have you wandering the streets all alone,” Oikawa said, as if he was talking to a small child. It pissed Iwaizumi off. “You’d get lost, or be stalked by a fire extinguisher, or something. There needs to be someone responsible looking after you! And…” Oikawa paused. “I wasn’t sure if you knew the way back to my apartment.”

“Me either,” Iwaizumi admitted slowly. Indeed, he was very glad Oikawa came to escort him back, even if he was treating him like a five year old. But hell, he wasn’t going to tell him that. 

They made their way down the street, keeping a pace slightly quicker than what Iwaizumi’s used to -  Oikawa’s stride was annoyingly long, but he could keep up. Oikawa’s smooth voice prompted the casual conversation along effortlessly, as did Iwaizumi’s frequent arguments against how illogical half of his statements were. 

Oikawa winced as they passed by a nightclub, the droning, thudding bass reverberating through their bodies. A touch on his elbow made him turn towards Iwaizumi, who had to stretch up a little to speak loudly in his ear. "Be careful. It's around this time when the dangerous drunks appear."

"I'm an expert veteran of nightclubs," Oikawa huffed back. "You don't have to tell me what time people start vomiting all over the floor."

"I bet you go to those prim fancy ass clubs that all the white girls go to."

"I am the definition of a white girl, Iwa-chan, if you haven't noticed by now."

"My point is, the types of people that go here are different, alright?" 

“I can take care of myself. I’m almost twenty three, a big boy now.”

Oikawa’s tone was drenched in mocking sarcasm, and Iwaizumi shrugged, turning away from him silently. Fine. If Oikawa didn’t want to take his advice, that was fine. It was also fine how damn nicely the wavering, flashy lights swept over his face, illuminating in just the right way to accent how curvy his lips were-

A shout shot Iwaizumi’s attention up to the nightclub ahead of them, bunches of people floating around, some stumbling, some smoking, some making out. Actually, there was a lot of yelling, somehow breaking through the head-bashing music. Oikawa sped up automatically, and Iwaizumi followed suite, wanting to get past the disturbance before it was forced out of the club and onto the street. 

The next thing he knew, smashing sounded throughout the street, some drunk girls were shrieking - or possibly laughing, he couldn’t tell - and Oikawa’s hands were shoving him sideways, out of the path of the hurtling glass bottle. Iwaizumi, jostled by the frantic people around him, caught a glimpse of Oikawa’s back, one hand secured around his wrist and the other around the handlebar of his bike, winding both himself and his bike expertly out of the anxiously shifting throng. 

“Telling me to be careful, and you wandered straight into the thick of it,” Oikawa said scornfully, glancing back at him. 

“I-” Iwaizumi flinched as another crash sounded, right behind him. He looked back around him, saw the bouncers forcing their way into the few, tightly-knit men scrapping, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Sorry. I didn’t realise it was that bad.”

“It wasn’t, but it was about to get bad,” Oikawa told him stiffly, fingers tightening around Iwaizumi’s wrist as the people around them gradually thinned out. 

“How can you tell?” Hajime asked, frowning.

“I told you, I’m a veteran club-goer. I know when things are about to get messy.”

Releasing his wrist, Oikawa dropped back into stride beside Iwaizumi, grinning smugly.

“You can tell me how great I am for saving your life now, Iwa-chan.”

“I’d hardly call that ‘saving my life.’”

“You could’ve been stabbed by that glass bottle and bled out!”

“The key word there is ‘maybe.’”

Oikawa shook his head in disappointment, tapping a finger against the metal of his handlebar stem. “Ungrateful. I don’t know why I do these things for you.”

“Maybe for some other reason other than verbal praise?” Iwaizumi suggested, purposefully nudging his elbow into Oikawa’s side. 

“Don’t be ridiculous! What’s the point of doing a good deed if nobody rewards you for it afterwards?”

“I dunno, for the sake of the good deed maybe?”

“That’s no fun!”

“Sometimes I question your morality.”

“That makes two of us.”

They reached Oikawa’s apartment without incident, blessedly, and Iwaizumi saw his boxes as soon as he stepped into the hallway. Oikawa noticed his confused look and supplied an explanation. 

“Mattsun has a key my apartment, so he just left them there. I know, it was rude of him not to at least put them into the bedroom.”

“Ah, no, it’s alright,” Iwaizumi hastily said, slipping off his jacket and standing there awkwardly for a moment before Oikawa rolled his eyes.

“I told you before, make yourself comfortable! Here, give me that.”

Oikawa grabbed the jacket and promptly flung it into the sitting room, entirely missing the couch and instead lying to rest just to the side of it. 

“I like that jacket….” Iwaizumi muttered.

“It’s not going to get dirty unless you step on it!” Oikawa rolled his eyes again, grasping Iwaizumi’s wrist to yank him down the hallway. “Okay, I’m giving you the tour!”

“I already saw your apartment.”

“I’m giving you another tour!”

A few minutes later, and Iwaizumi was completely done. 

With the tour, that is.

Definitely not done with seeing how happy Oikawa was. 

Why he thought staying with Oikawa would help his looming crush, he had no idea.

Maybe he’d thought that if he got reminded how shitty Oikawa's personality was- because looking at his sincere smile would not help matters at all- this would all blow over.

But he's not a shitty person. He's allowing you to stay in his apartment for free. That's not something a shitty person would do.

Shut up, Iwaizumi willed the voice. You're not helping things.

"-you can sleep on my floor in a futon, or maybe with one underneath too, I bought another because Mattsun always came over with Makki, they’re worse than being attached at the hip-"

"Oikawa, I'll pay rent, of course."

Oikawa looked at him in surprise, eyebrows raised. "Don't be silly, that's not the point of you staying with me. You're staying with me for free so you can pay off your hospital bill and your mother's."

"Yeah, but it's unfair."

"Don't worry about it! As long as you don't mind cleaning up after dinner and cooking for me, and washing the windows and hoovering-"

"When am I going to get a chance to do that?"

"Fine, fine. I'll charge you." Oikawa's lips pursed up into an exaggerated thinking face, one finger tapping his chin absently. "How about...five yen a month?"

"Oikawa, that's nothing."

"Well, you told me to charge you, so that's what I'm demanding in rent!" 

Sighing, but unable to keep a small smile off of his lips, Iwaizumi plopped down onto the bed, brushing a hand lightly over his dark hair. 

“Fine. I’ll pay your five cruddy yen.”

“If you’re cheeky, it’s going to go up to ten,” Oikawa threatened, waving a finger in Hajime’s face. “So, what do you want for dinner? I can make anything! Not well, but I can make it!”

“Shit, I forgot to call into a market on the way here,” Iwaizumi cursed. “Why didn’t you remind me?”

“I forgot too, but it’s okay, there’s plenty of food here!”

“Edible food?”

“Of course the food is edible! Who do you think I am?”

“A bad cook.” Iwaizumi’s gaze drifted across the room, to a curve of wood peeking out from behind the far side of Oikawa’s wardrobe. “Is that a guitar?”

Frowning, Oikawa followed his gaze, the crease smoothing out as he realised what Iwaizumi was talking about, moving over to retrieve it. 

“Oh wow, I forgot about this,” Oikawa said, pulling it out and brushing some dust off with a wrinkled up nose. “I think Mattsun gave me his old one for Christmas or something, told me I should learn it.”

“Here.” Iwaizumi reached out his hand and took it by the neck, settling it into his lap with a tiny smile. “Man, haven’t played one of these in ages.”

“You can play guitar?” Oikawa questioned in surprise, dropping onto the bed beside him. “You never mentioned it before.”

Iwaizumi strummed downwards once and winced as an awfully wrong sound rocked against his ears. “Yeah, from like thirteen to seventeen or whatever,” he mumbled absently as he scrolled through his apps, wondering if he’d deleted the tuner from back then. 

“Oh! Mattsun gave me a tuner, too,” Oikawa scrambled for it, pulling out his drawer and rustling through it briefly before tossing something small and black back at Hajime. “Here you go!”

“Thanks.”

\---

Half an hour later, and Oikawa and Iwaizumi were sitting on his bedroom floor, slurping up whatever kind of soup Iwaizumi managed to produce within fifteen minutes. Oikawa had to admit, it was tasty, even if he’d added so much salt both of them were surprised their hearts hadn’t packed it in by now. Oikawa’s gaze kept straying over to Hajime, who was relaxed against the back wall underneath his window, just finishing off his soup. Despite working all day, being kicked out of his apartment, and then having to walk for an hour and a bit on dark streets, he was still looking the exact same as he did this morning, and Oikawa couldn’t wrap his head around it. Wouldn’t he be… Oikawa didn’t know, a bit more disheveled? Uprooted? If Oikawa was evicted from his apartment -  okay, his father owned it, so he wouldn’t be, but he could imagine it - he’d be a mess. Definitely not as calm as Iwaizumi appeared right now, placing his bowl down beside him and picking up the newly tuned guitar again.

“How long did you stay in that apartment for?” Oikawa inquired abruptly.

“Couple of years. Why?”

“Didn’t it...wasn’t it like home?” Oikawa asked, thoroughly bemused. “Isn’t it upsetting to just get booted out like that, without any warning?”

“Nah.” The edge of Iwaizumi’s tongue stuck out as he hit a wrong string, hissing cusses underneath his breath. He was more out of practice than he thought. “It was a shit place, you saw it yourself.”

“But….” Oikawa trailed off. “You put so much effort into keeping it clean and nice.”

Iwaizumi glanced up at him, surprise evident in his greenish-grey gaze. 

“You could tell?”

“It was obvious! Wasn’t it hard to see it all destroyed? I’m assuming those guys that hit you also wrecked everything?”

“I suppose.” Iwaizumi ducked his head again, humming. “It’s not that big of a deal, really.”

“People broke into your apartment! It is a big deal!” Oikawa protested.

Iwaizumi’s gaze snapped back up sharply. 

“And I’m out of there now, so it doesn’t matter.”

He left it at that, and Oikawa was about to push further when his phone vibrated.

 

**Unknown Contact:** is iwaizumi ok

 

Oikawa frowned down at his phone suspiciously and glanced across at Iwaizumi, the worried crease between his forehead gone as he hummed away, absently strumming lightly on the guitar.

"Iwa-chan?"

Iwaizumi straightened up, his arm slung over the guitar relaxing so his fingertips brushed against his thigh. "Yeah?"

"Did you give my number to any of your friends?"

The crease came back, but it wasn't the angry or concerned crease. It was the confused crease. Oikawa took a moment to marvel, slightly unnerved, at how he could tell the difference between Iwaizumi's forehead creases. With the angry one, his eyebrows were a tad lower, unlike the worried one, and...oh dear, he was speaking. Oikawa zoned back in time to hear the last sentence.

"......no reason for me to. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. I just asked so you could feed my ego more if you had."

"The day I feed your ego is the day Kuroo voluntarily confesses to Kenma," Iwaizumi grumbled, distractedly plucking some strings in a rhythmic pattern.

"So it's possible!" Oikawa chirped as he looked down at his screen once again, this time typing out a reply.

 

**shit hair:** who are you????

**Unknown Contact:** u told me not to talk to u until I sorted out my hair so im texting u instead

genius huh

**shit hair:** oh my god you're that guy

**walking bad hair day:** that guy?? thats all u have to say about me?

**shit hair:** yes. deal with it.

**walking** **bad** **hair** **day** : dick. I cant believe iwaizumi-kun went to u instead of me

 **shit** **hair** : of course he did. my hair is better

 **walking** **bad** **hair** **day** : my hair is absolutely fine the way it is thank you v much be yourself and all that shit

also kenma says so

**shit** **hair** : gonna ignore how gay you are and go back to your question

yeah he's fine. sitting on my bedroom floor playing guitar

**walking** **bad** **hair** **day** : "gonna ignore how gay you are" look whos talking

also he plays guitar???????? he never told me

**shit** **hair** : since like middle school apparently but he had to give it up in high school

he's still p good tho

just saying

**walking** **bad** **hair** **day** : he better play for me sometime or ill send lev to bother him

 **shit** **hair** : how can you you don't know where I live

 **walking** **bad** **hair** **day** : oh ill find out

 **shit** **hair** : keep away from me

 

Lev. Oikawa's eyebrows drew downwards. Where did he hear that name before? It was in relation to...to...Oh!

 

 **shit** **hair** : omg you played w yaku right

 **walking** **bad hair** **day** : yeah what of it 

whered u think i got ur number from

**shit** **hair** : he's such a good receiver i hate him he received all of my serves in one  match at training

how dare he

**walking** **bad** **hair** **day** : whoo go yaku hurting douchebag precious ego

 **shit** **hair** : i am not a douchebag!!! you’re the douchebag going around insulting ppl!!!

 **walking** **bad** **hair** **day** : thats so hypocritical idk even where to start

 **shit** **hair** : shut up iwa-chan will take my side on this

 

**Kuroo** : do u think oikawa is a douchebag

**Hedgehog-chan** : Without a doubt, yes.

 

[walking bad hair day sent a photo]

**walking** **bad** **hair** **day** : well what do you have to say to that

 

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whined out, interrupting Iwaizumi’s fingers dancing on the strings to meet his gaze.

“Yeah?”

“Why did you agree with Kuroo that I’m a douchebag?!”

“You are.”

“I invited you into my house!”

“I’d do the same for you,” Iwaizumi said without hesitation. “I already did, in fact. So you’re simply repaying a favour.” 

Oikawa scowled, glancing down at his phone and typing furiously. 

 

 **shit** **hair** : iwa-chan is mean his opinion doesn’t count

 **walking** **bad** **hair** **day** : oh ho ho his opinion counts a lot he knows u

 **shit** **hair** : shut up he thinks you’re an asshole too

 **walking** **bad** **hair** day: yeah so

we re in the same boat

**shit** **hair** : don’t put me in with the likes of you who can’t even control their own hair and can’t come to terms w their own sexuality

 **walking** **bad** **hair** **day** : how tf do u know all that about me

 **shit** **hair** : iwa-chan refers to your pathetic struggles quite a bit

 **walking** **bad** **hair** **day** : ….me and hedgehog-chan need to have a serious talk

 **shit** **hair** : omg hedgehog-chan

i’m using that

**walking** **bad** **hair** **day** : fuckin stop stealing my totally original and hilarious jokes

 **shit** **hair** : who came up w it

 **walking** **bad** **hair** **day** : akaashi but thats not the point u cant steal a stolen joke

 **shit** **hair** : watch me

 

“Oikawa.”

Oikawa didn’t glance up for a moment, brow furrowed and way too absorbed in his conversation with this other asswipe. 

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi repeated, tapping him gently on the head with the end of the guitar.

Oikawa started, and aimed an annoyed smile over at Iwaizumi. “Where’d you find Kuroo? He’s irritating.”

“By irritating, do you mean just like you?” Iwaizumi asked, raising an eyebrow. “And I’ll tell you tomorrow. I’m tired.”

“It’s only like one,” Oikawa protested.

“Exactly.” Iwaizumi stood up and put the guitar aside, rifling through the box he’d labelled, “clothes.” Then he began stripping off quickly, trying not to be hyperaware of Oikawa’s gaze on him. It wasn’t as if Oikawa was actually staring at him. It was just his….wistful thinking? Did he want Oikawa to look at him? Iwaizumi glanced over at him, and sure enough, Oikawa was glued to his phone screen. There. Just his imagination.

 

[the gayest send a photo]

**the gayest:** ok but does iwa-chan have a bod or what

**pinkweed420:** ffs issei look @ this u were right again

**puff’s cream:** told ya. I can smell abs from a kilometre away.

**pinkweed420:** thats why ur dating me ;)))

**puff’s cream:** that and your impressive skill at sucking dick

**the gayest:** okay im gone bye

**puff’s cream:** high five

**pinkweed420:** high shrek

**the gayest:** how does that make sense

**puff’s cream:** I thought you were gone.

**the gayest:** i waS AND IT WAS GREAT I’M GOING AGAIN

**pinkweed420:** rip

 

Huffing out a breath through  his nose, Oikawa tossed his phone back up onto his bed, attempting not to stare at Iwaizumi’s half-naked form in front of him. Like, right in front of him. It wasn’t even as if he was looking at Oikawa. He wouldn’t notice if you took a little peek-

Oikawa shook his head. He didn’t want anything weird happening. Clambering onto his bed, he lay on his stomach, facing the wall and not Iwaizumi. Wasn’t as if he could still hear every little bit of his breathing or any quiet grunts as he fought to remove his foot from his shoe. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Iwaizumi hissed out, hopping on one foot and almost overbalancing as Oikawa stifled a laugh.

“Need some help?”

“I’m fine,” Iwaizumi grunted out, yanking the shoe off so hard that it flew off and hit the wall. “Damn, aren’t feet supposed to stop growing at like sixteen?”

“Looks like you’re the exception to that rule!” Oikawa chirped out. “Unless it’s because your socks are all sticky and sweaty from that walk.”

“True, that could be it,” Iwaizumi admitted as he threw on an old t-shirt, leaving his boxers on him and nothing else. “Where’s the futon?”

“Top of the wardrobe,” Oikawa offered, his chin resting on his shoulder to watch Iwaizumi reach up past all his clothes on the hangers, up towards the shelf on the top. 

Except he couldn’t quite reach it, and Oikawa felt laughter bubbling up in him as he scowled deeper, trying to prop himself up onto the balls of his feet. His fingertips brushed off of the edge of the shelf before he fell back down onto his heels, letting out an annoyed grumble. Oikawa twisted back around, dangling his front half off the bed to aim a shit-eating grin up at him. 

“Need a little help, Iwa-chan? Or to be precise, need five more centimetres?”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi gritted out in frustration, then he tensed and jumped, yanking down a big clump of material, clenched in his fist.

They both gazed at it for a moment before Oikawa chuckled.

“Seems like you’ve pulled down my spare blanket instead! What a shame, the futon’s probably behind it, deeper in. And to get that, you’d have to be quite a bit taller!”

“You can’t get it either. Five centimeters isn’t that much of a difference,” Iwaizumi grumped, kneeling down to fold the blanket back up.

“You’re right,” Oikawa drawled out, then scooched over the edge of the bed to reach underneath it, pulling out a little foldable step. “That’s why I have this! Now, if only you’d asked for help, you could’ve saved all that trouble!”

“If only you told me you had it I could’ve been saved all that embarrassment,” Iwaizumi muttered back, taking it from Oikawa and setting it up, tugging down the futon finally. 

Oikawa helped him spread it out on the floor, and Iwaizumi rapidly prepared himself for bed, as Oikawa simply lazed about on his bed. 

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” Iwaizumi questioned him as he returned from the bathroom. 

Oikawa raised a hand, one earphone dangling from its place wrapped above his ear. “I’ll go to sleep around four or so. I won’t wake you up, don’t worry.”

“That’s really not healthy,” Iwaizumi pointed out, shifting into to the futon comfortably. 

“I sleep more than eight hours, though! Isn’t that what you’re supposed to get?” 

“Not from four to twelve, no,” Iwaizumi grumbled, flopping onto his side and closing his eyes. “Can you turn off the lights?”

“Ugh…” Oikawa groaned, shuffling up the bed to reach for the lights perched up high on the wall. “Couldn’t you have turned them off before lying down?” 

He managed to flick them off without getting up, and then the room fell to complete darkness, apart from the floaty, artificial blue illumination from Oikawa’s phone. 

“Goodnight, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi said, suddenly grateful that he had somewhere to sleep tonight, and for the foreseeable future. “If you wake me up I’ll hit you.”

He heard a small chuckle from Oikawa, the bed creaking softly as he moved back down. “Sure, sure, whatever. I know how grumpy you are in the mornings.”

“I mean it. Don’t wake me before eight.”

“Iwa-chan, who do you think I am? I won’t be awake before eight. That’s a ridiculous idea.”

“This is how normal people with jobs live, Oikawa. Now shut up, I need to sleep.”

“I wasn’t the one who started this conversation!”

There was silence from Iwaizumi, and Oikawa got the message. Shut up and go to sleep. He smiled. He had to confess, it was much nicer having someone else in the room with him. It took a lot of the loneliness away, hearing Hajime’s steady, almost soundless breaths puff out into the air. 

Oikawa didn’t think he’d have any trouble falling asleep tonight.

\-----

Iwaizumi couldn't see much. He could only see through blurry vision at first, the wispy image of a grey car roof. Then the sensations hit, as vividly intense and agonising as the day itself, the horrible feeling of being crushed, confined, metal folding in on all his limbs. With the sensations came panic, and fear. The fear that claimed every muscle in his body, caused him to kick out as much as he could in the twisted carcass of the car, made his neck snap over to the side, his vision drenched by the image of his mother slumped bonelessly against the fracturing window, black hair skewed all over it like cracks in the glass. Realisation always slammed into him then, the realisation that they were trapped, his family were caged and injured, that they'd crashed. His mouth moved on its own, like usual, shouting for help, yelling his mom's name over and over, screaming for his brother to answer him from the backseat. There was only silence. Iwaizumi pounded his feet against the warped glove compartment, feeling blood trickle down the back of his neck. Nothing around him budged an inch, not the crumpled door beside him, or the piece of pulverised plastic preventing his seatbelt from opening.  Crimson was beginning to drain down the cracks in the glass circling from behind his mom's skull, but Iwaizumi refused to believe she was dead. If she was, he wasn't sure he'd have the will to get out of this car by himself. 

Except for his brother. He had to check if his brother was okay. Again, Hajime tried to rotate back around to see, but the caved-in side of the car blocked his vision. His brother had been sitting at that side of the car. 

Iwaizumi tried not to think about what that meant. 

"Shou? Shou! Shou, answer me!" 

Again, nothing.

"Mom! Mom! Mom, please, wake up!"

Again, silence.

Then sirens, loud and clear and hopeful.

At this stage, Iwaizumi's heart always felt like it had burst, and all the pain was simply an illusion. 

By this time, he'd realised that it wasn't happening right now, it was this fucking dream again except it wasn't really a dream or a nightmare because it happened it actually fucking happened and his brother is gone his mom will never wake up he's alone now always have been alone always will be the poor teenager on the local news suddenly parentless and brotherless sympathy thrown at him that he didn't want why couldn't they just go away and let him fucking deal with it it was a stupid motherfucking driver on her phone it couldn't be reversed-

Iwaizumi surged upwards with a gasp. Sweat dripped from his temples, his eyes blown wide open with adrenaline. 

He rarely dreamed about the crash itself. He always dreamed about the aftermath, the fallout, the way he had to struggle to even cope with the realisation that now, he had nobody.  How his life had fallen to pieces like a jigsaw being taken apart like a fumbling two year old toddler. The blood pounding in his ears gradually faded to meet the sound of Oikawa's voice, soft and low. 

"-Chan? Iwa-chan? Can you-"

"Yes, I can fucking hear you," Iwaizumi snapped, cursing the fact that Oikawa was such a light sleeper. Oikawa recoiled, and Iwaizumi could feel the hurt in his gaze, guilt swirling in his chest. "Sorry, Oikawa," he mumbled, dropping his head forward onto his hands. 

"You were..." Oikawa paused, chewing on his lower lip hesitantly. He'd woken up because of Hajime's unsettling muttering, and had been about to clamber out when he jolted upright. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Iwaizumi told him gruffly, winding his way out of the futon. 

"Where are you going?" Oikawa asked as Hajime quickly threw on some loose pants and jacket over his t-shirt. 

"Run," was Hajime's only response as he jammed his feet into his sneakers. 

"But you don't know this area well. What if you get lost?" 

"I can handle myself, Oikawa," Iwaizumi told him sharply, yanking open the bedroom door with quite a bit more force than he needed to. He strode through the doorway purposefully, starting down the corridor.

"Then when will you be back?" Oikawa called after him, slithering to the very edge of his bed. 

He got no answer, and in another few seconds, he heard the soft jumble of his front door key in the lock, a click, and another firm click a second later as the door closed. Oikawa slipped out of his bed, concern flowing through him, even though he knew Iwaizumi was already gone. Should he follow him? Oikawa wondered, chewing on his lower lip indecisively. Should he? He only had a few seconds to decide, before Iwaizumi would be gone too far...

Oikawa lurched up and scurried out of the bedroom, grabbing his jacket on the way out. As he passed through his front door hastily, he didn’t even bother shutting it behind him before flying down the stairs. Still barefoot, he sprinted down the steps leading up to his apartment building, then halted abruptly, head swinging from side to side. The street was completely empty. 

“Fuck,” Oikawa gritted out, worry running through him more intensely than ever, and it wasn’t just because Iwaizumi could get lost. It wasn’t good to be alone and out this early in the morning, and ...honestly, it sort of scared him how unnerved and frightened he’d looked. 

His lips tightening, his fingers delving back through his messy hair, Oikawa stared at all of his surroundings once more, as if one out-of-place piece of trash would give away which direction Hajime went. Nothing. Fucking nothing, no clue to where he went. 

Oikawa wasn’t going to get anywhere unless he guessed a random direction and prayed that he’d stumble across Iwaizumi. With a deep sigh, Oikawa turned back around - his feet were beginning to freeze - and trudged back up into his apartment for what he suspected would be a long wait.

\---

Iwaizumi, breathing heavy and sweaty, made it back to Oikawa's front door before he broke. Silently stuffing his sleeve into his mouth to stifle the irregular, deep sobs dripping from his hiccupping chest, he tried to gather himself up and failed horribly. Another hand, withdrawn into a sleeve, was pressed hard up against his salt-slicked face. This happened sometimes. It might have been six years since his younger brother died and his mother wound up in hospital, but time never healed anything. It masked, yes, but the chasm was still there, brimming with the grief and frustration Iwaizumi always stomped down. He missed them. He missed them so fucking much, and the aloneness was fucking gnawing away merrily on his heart, the first string snapping. It wanted his tears, his screaming, gulping sobs, and Hajime always ran out of strength to resist eventually. 

Raising his hand, he knocked shakily at Oikawa's door, wishing he had anywhere else to go, or could manage to walk like normal, but also desiring comfort. The door swung open mere moments later, and Oikawa stood ready with a grin that diminished instantly. Iwaizumi's hand, sleeve pulled over it, was blocking his eyes, but Tooru could see his mouth well enough, lips writhing around white teeth and drips hanging off his chin.

"Iwa-chan?" 

Soundlessly, Iwaizumi shouldered roughly past him, fleeing hastily into the bathroom. "Iwa-chan!"

Oikawa followed him, the front door hanging open on its hinges, forgotten about as he flattened himself against the door, a solid click locking him out.

"Iwa-chan, what's wrong? Talk to me," Oikawa persisted, a dreadful lump rising in his throat as he tugged shakily on the handle. "Iwa-chan, let me in!" 

"I.."

Oikawa froze. Any movement would've drowned out Hajime's quiet voice, even the soft rustling of clothing, or a ghost of a breath. 

"I don't want you to see me like this."

"I don't care. Let me in."

Tooru's answer was firm and immediate.

"Oikawa, you don't get it." Iwaizumi's voice shook so badly a bolt of fear went through Oikawa. "I care."

"Oh, I get it," Oikawa said determinedly. "I've had my fair share of breakdowns, believe me. I'm about as emotionally stable as a rock balanced on a toothpick. Now, stop being so proud and let me in. I'm not leaving until you do."

There was a period of thick silence, so heavy Oikawa could feel it pressing down on his chest, weighted with utter worry. Then a hoarse laugh echoed from the the other side of the door, and a click, and Oikawa felt the weight lift up slightly. 

"I'm a fucking mess, Oik-"

He only got a glance of Iwaizumi's appearance-looking smaller than he ever saw him before, shoulder crushed up around his neck, eyes hollow and red-before drenching him in a hug. Oikawa's arms squeezed tightly around his shoulders, one hand softly swaying through the hair at the back of his head as he murmured tenderly.

"It's okay, Iwa-chan, it's okay..."

Iwaizumi was still in his arms, little unsung cries sticking to the inside of his throat.

Then he drew his arms around Oikawa's back and slowly nestled his damp face in the crook of Oikawa's neck, and everything felt somewhat better. Not a lot, but a little. Enough for Iwaizumi to speak.

"She's-she's never going to wake up...and...and, Oikawa, I can't-I can't possibly lose another one of my family, I won't be able to stand it....I can't, I can't-"

His voice disintegrated into a series of choked gasps, and his fingers tightened their desperate, pinching grip on Oikawa's shirt. Another? Oikawa questioned internally, but now was not the time to push about that.

"If your mother's anything like you, she'll wake up," Oikawa declared confidently. "She's hung on for six years, just like you have. Neither of you are going to give up now."

Iwaizumi's breath hung damp and heavy on his neck.

"I wish I could be so sure."

"I'm sure enough for the two of us. Have some faith in your mom. What kind of person is she?"

Oikawa's hair brushed against Iwaizumi's ear as he pressed his nose harder against Oikawa's skin, inhaling that crisp, peppermint scent. 

"She...she's magnificent. Once my father left, she worked four jobs somehow to support us. That wasn't just for the essentials. I didn't have to give up anything, even something small like buying ice cream after practice. Neither did my brother. And yet...she was always upbeat and looking forward. Stern sometimes, especially when we fought, but fair. And she had this sure-fire, steady faith in God that I wish I had."

"She sounds amazing," Oikawa spoke softly. "I want to meet her one day. And I will. You're going to introduce her to me again, okay?"

Oikawa felt Iwaizumi's strong fingertips dig into his skin through his shirt.

"Okay," Iwaizumi mumbled quietly. "I can't guarantee that she'll like you, though." 

That got a chuckle out of Oikawa, and Iwaizumi could feel the way his chest shifted with the pleasant sound. "Everyone loves me, Iwa-chan. Those who don't are jealous. I'm going to win over your mother effortlessly, just you watch."

"I doubt it. She always taught me to be wary of guys like you."

"Smart lady," Oikawa laughed out airily. "You didn't follow her advice though, did you?"

"I did. You're not as arrogant as you act," Iwaizumi told him with a little sniffle, his grip on Oikawa relaxing somewhat. "You're a good person."

The words seemed to sink utterly into Oikawa's bones, echoing inside his very essence, warm and honest and comforting. Iwaizumi truly believed that. 

"But...." 

For once in Oikawa's life, his silver-studded tongue failed him. 

“But nothing.”

Iwaizumi’s voice was still wavering slightly, but the certainty came across, loud and clear.

Oikawa didn’t know what to do, so he wrapped his fingers around Hajime’s damp neck, holding him nearer. Iwaizumi didn’t move, and neither did Oikawa. Until Iwaizumi’s breaths evened out and his tears ceased flowing so easily, the thought to pull away didn’t even cross Oikawa’s mind.

Then Iwaizumi spoke, thick and muffled. "Close your front door, you idiot."

Oikawa couldn't stop a thankful chuckle passing over his lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> school next week rip me  
> 8/9 day updates will not be possible once it starts, but I'm hoping to get another chapter out before that  
> as always, thank you so much to all of you for the support and i love every single kudos and comment!


	10. Minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oikawa's breaking point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short, because it worked that way.  
> next chapter will be at least 10k though, I promise.

"Are you okay to go to work?" 

Iwaizumi nodded unhesitatingly, flinging on his old, oil-stained jacket as he stepped away from the emptied coffee mug on the kitchen table. Oikawa sat, his posture still impeccably tall and poised despite functioning on maybe two hours of sleep, at the kitchen table, with his palms draped around a warm coffee. Watching Iwaizumi dig through a box for his overalls, Oikawa huddled nearer to the mug and tried not to think about what day today was. Instead, he attempted to focus on how Iwaizumi's strong fingers flexed in irritation, how little annoyed "tsks" sped past his lips every so often. It wasn't hard to become blissfully distracted by him, and Oikawa relaxed gradually as Iwaizumi became more and more wound up. 

"Where the fuck is it?" He growled, tearing out the contents, seemingly all plain jeans.

"Patience, patience. Have you tried the boxes in the bedroom?" 

"I was sure I put it in that one!"

"Well, try there anyways." 

He grumbled about it, but he took Oikawa’s advice and lumbered out of the doorway nonetheless. Once Iwaizumi’s back was gone from the kitchen, Oikawa knelt down, swiftly pulling a bottle out of the cupboard and drained it into his coffee. Gross, but very effective. Caffeine and alcohol combined was a great idea, considering all two hours of sleep he was lucky to get and what was happening today. Either way, he wasn’t staying sober. Never could this day. 

Hurriedly flinging his head back, Oikawa allowed the disgusting taste of liquor and coffee to flow down his throat, wiping away the splutters ringing his mouth. Lurching to his feet, Oikawa dragged himself over to the bin and chucked in the hollow bottle with a high-pitched clink. The concoction did what it was supposed to, though, and he felt his head growing foggier, his limbs spurting with sudden energy. Making his way into the bedroom, Oikawa gazed at the form of Iwaizumi crouched down, cursing softly under his breath as he desperately rooted through another cardboard box. Leaning his shoulder against the doorway - his mind wasn’t nearly as hazy as he wanted it to be - Oikawa waited, silent, as Iwaizumi held up his grey overalls, sighing out loud in relief, the crease between his eyebrows smoothing out. 

“Good to go?” Oikawa inquired, and Iwaizumi jumped.

“Jesus, Oikawa, don’t sneak up like that.”

“It’s not my fault if you’re too unobservant to notice a tall, beautiful man approaching you,” Oikawa replied smoothly, spreading his hands generously. 

“I don’t have time for this-”

Iwaizumi halted in front of Oikawa, frowning as his gaze examined his face seriously. Oikawa forced a smile, trying to break through Hajime’s stony expression without speaking. He didn’t want Iwaizumi to smell the liquor on his breath - why did he use up all his vodka the day before, that would’ve been perfect, god damn it.

“Have you been drinking?”

Oikawa smiled wider.

“Nope.”

Iwaizumi sighed. Oikawa was lying, he could smell the traces of that stink anywhere. Why he was drinking, he didn’t know, and he…. Hajime glanced down at his phone, cursing inwardly. Because of the fiasco with the clothing he thought he knew where it was, he was already running late, and Oikawa’s place was a lot further from the garage than his old place was. He simply didn’t have time to sit around and question Oikawa. 

Heaving another sigh, Iwaizumi pressed his lips together and pulled Oikawa into an abrupt, quick hug, one that only lasted just long enough for him to say, “Thank you.”

Hajime was pulling away and through the doorway before Oikawa could blink, and his upbeat reply of, “No problem, Iwa-chan!” was lost in the vacant air of the bedroom. 

Spinning back around, Oikawa tried to ignore the shivers running through him - was it from the extra caffeine he dumped into his coffee or Iwaizumi’s hug? - and padded into the hallway, wanting to see Iwaizumi off. He was just tucking his overalls underneath his arm, back facing Oikawa as he slipped into his jacket, one arm after the other. 

“Have a good day at work,” Oikawa tried, sounding as normal as usual, he hoped. “I know it’ll be hard to, seeing as I won’t be there, but try anyways!” 

Iwaizumi rotated around and their gazes met. For second, Oikawa was certain that Iwaizumi  _ knew _ .

He knew that Oikawa’s voice was wavering underneath all the forced steadiness, that he knew how drunk Oikawa was going to become the moment he left and there was nobody to see him. 

Hajime ducked his head, breaking contact, and suddenly Oikawa could breathe and pretend again. 

“Yeah. I’ll try, thanks. I’ll see you later, alright?”

“Of course! Then again, you don’t really have a choice in the matter, do you?”

Oikawa was only half joking. The other half of him was frantic for reassurance. 

Iwaizumi gave him a little, tight smile. If only Oikawa knew.

“I really don’t.”

Opening the door, Iwaizumi hesitated, his palm wrapped around the doorknob. 

“Try and get some sleep, alright? I’m sorry I kept you up this morning.”

“You didn’t force me to do anything, Iwa-chan. I liked keeping you company.”

That sentence, at least, was truth. 

Iwaizumi swallowed, shrugging his shoulders in a way that showed he really didn’t know how to respond. His eyes flicked over to the gap between the door and the doorframe, staring out into the corridor as he struggled to think of a response that didn’t give anything away.

“Me too,” he settled on, then hurriedly continued with, “Well, I’d better get going now.” 

The door swung open wider, and Iwaizumi strode through it quickly, making sure he had everything he needed.

“When will you be back?” slipped out of Oikawa’s mouth, and Iwaizumi raised a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. 

“Five, I think, or around then.” 

“Okay.”

With one last nod, Iwaizumi turned away, hoping - okay, maybe fooling himself a little - that it was okay to leave Oikawa like this, even if he didn’t know exactly why he got a sense of unease every time Oikawa spoke. His movements seemed unnatural somehow, strained and poised. He heard the door click shut behind him, with no last cheerful waving or chirped goodbye, and the sense of unsettlement grew. 

But he had to get to work, so he started walking away, and continued without hesitation, all the way to the garage.

\------

Oikawa almost crumbled the instant Iwaizumi was gone. Long, deep breaths got him back on track, twisting clumps of his hair around his fingers more tightly than he should. It hurt. Tottering back into his favourite room - the kitchen, always the kitchen - he grasped the cool, smooth neck of another glass bottle - no glass, and picked his way into the sitting room. The television sat, silent and foreboding, as if sulking, across from the couch, on a sturdy little dresser. The gleam, the sheen of the screen glared maliciously at him as Oikawa slumped across the couch - across, he simply lay back on the entire length of it - and Oikawa glowered viciously back, checking the time on his phone as he took a preliminary swig out of the bottle. 

Half an hour. 

When his phone jumped and sang out in his palm, he barely reacted except for tapping the “accept” button.

“Tooru?”

“Oh, sis! How’re you?” Oikawa chirped back readily. “Great weather here, how’s Miyagi?”

“Good, and good. I was just calling to...you know.”

Yes, yes. They both knew why she called him, to check up on him, to make sure he wasn’t going overboard at this very special time of year for the Japanese Volleyball team. 

“Oh? Well, it’s lovely to hear that you care, but there’s nothing to worry about! I’m perfectly okay.” Oikawa beamed down the line, and threw up a carefree peace sign, as if she could see. If he was going to pretend, he might as well go the whole hog. It helped him to act better, if he imagined her here physically. He had to be flawless, or she’d pick up on his actual mood, and he just didn’t want to deal with all that “are you going to a counsellor, do you need someone to talk to,” bullshit right now. 

He could sense his sister hesitate on the other end of the line. Last year, his phone had gotten robbed and Oikawa had been too intoxicated to notice it was missing for a whole two days. Neither his family nor friends knew where he was - hell, Oikawa couldn’t even remember himself - and ever since, his sister had been extra careful to keep tabs on him. 

“Tooru, please be honest with me. I know you’re never okay around this time.”

“I am being honest,” Oikawa insisted. “I told you, don’t worry about me. You’ll just go into another one of your moods and Takeru will pick up on that. You can’t do anything to help, anyways, if I was feeling bad, so there’s no point fretting over it!”

“Don’t say that. I’m your big sister, for goodness’ sake. I’m going to worry over you, no matter how many times you reassure me you’re alright.”

Oikawa’s grin dropped, and his lips tightened.

“I’m not four anymore. I can take care of myself.”

“Hold on, Tooru-Mom, now? Do you have to? Fine, fine-”

“Tooru! How are you doing? Nori from next door has been asking about you, you know, she’s grown up into quite the blooming young thing, if you know what I mean-”

Oikawa let her drone on, slumping down into the sofa and totally tuning out of whatever neighbourhood gossip she actually thought he was interested in. 

“So, do you need any more money? I can get your father to send you some, if you need it, or even just in case. You never know when an emergency will crop up.”

Oikawa’s ears relayed the message to his mind twice before a tiny smile appeared on his lips, thinking about his rapidly decreasing supply of alcohol.

“You know what Mom, some money would really help me out right about now.”

In the background, he heard some protesting from his sister - she knew what was going on, alright, but once he called his mother “Mom,” she was going to obey every request of his in an effort to regain his affections. Oikawa thought it was cute how she still had hope. Cute and pathetic, like a kicked dog that kept returning to its owner. 

He waited out the arguing, like usual. He already knew the outcome, anyway. 

“Sorry about that.” His mother’s slicked voice flooded over the line, overly relaxed and calm to mask over the recent upset. “Of course I’ll ask your father to give you some money. If you need it, we’ll happily give you anything you need.”

Oikawa heard his sister sigh deeply in the background, but she couldn’t do anything about it anymore. His mother had an independent mind Oikawa could guilt-twist around his little finger. 

“Thanks a million!” Oikawa’s voice was simply as cheery and chipper as ever. “Apologies, but there’s a program on tv I’d like to catch, so is it okay if I call you back later?”

“Of course, as long as you remember to actually call!”

“I will, Mom! Goodbye, sis!”

Oikawa hung up before either of them could respond, reaching for the remote as his phone dropped to the table like a small stone in a large, large lake.

\------

"Mm, you like to tease, don't you?" 

Daichi leaned back against the wall behind the bed, as Suga laughed, carefree and airy, but making sure that his oversized shirt slipped just a little more down his shoulder. He knew his collarbones and little pieces of intimate skin exposed drove Daichi crazy, and today he was aiming for a completely new shade of red to cast over Daichi's adorable cheeks. 

"What makes you think that?" Sugawara smiled out purely, shifting so he was seated just a little bit further up Daichi's pleasantly firm thighs. "I have no idea where you'd get that idea from." 

"Really? I'm not sure either," Daichi answered with a raised eyebrow, bending forward to trail a palm up the side of Sugawara's slender, pale, and very naked thigh. Suga tilted his head back, unable to catch the soft smile spreading across his face at Daichi's tender, brushing touch. He loved this. He loved Daichi treating him like a porcelain figure, so gentle and afraid of hurting him it was beyond cute. Sometimes he had to remind Daichi that he wasn't an angel of glass, that he could push it in rougher at times. And he'd happily proved to Daichi how good fucking felt when you were the bottom. 

"Maybe it's the fact that you haven't kissed me in the past ten minutes," Suga suggested, shivering as heat crawled up from where Daichi's fingers rested, just on his hipbone. 

"Is that so? Well, I must do something to amend that immediately. My deepest apologies." Daichi leaned in some more, and Sugawara could feel breath washing over his lips, welcome and homely. 

"Such filthy talk like that really turns me on," Sugawara teased, parting his lips slowly, deliberately, and was rewarded when Daichi's gaze dipped lustfully to his mouth. 

"What a surprise, same goes for-"

Sugawara's phone vibrated, and he let out a sigh, resting his forehead against Daichi's momentarily, until it stopped. 

"Sorry about that," he apologised, quickly muting it, but not before he saw the text. 

 

**Baldy:** DID YOU RING YUJI HE WONT ANSWER MY TEXTS

 

Daichi was frowning down at Sugawara's phone too, his attention away from Suga and his gorgeous lips. "Did you call Terushima?" 

Fuck. Suga blew out a breath, shrugging casually and wishing he could lie to Daichi. "No. I kept intending to....but I kept getting distracted." 

"Will I call him then? I'm sort of worried about him." 

Sugawara's gaze drooped in disappointment. He sensed that whatever mood they had before this was very gone, shattered by the very mention of Yuji. Even now, he's interfering with us, Suga thought in frustration. 

"Suga?" Daichi asked carefully. "Sorry. I won't call him now." 

"No need to apologise for being concerned about a friend," Suga replied warmly. "You can call him now, if you want." 

Daichi shook his head, settling his forehead gently against Sugawara's, and his hands encircling his waist, drawing him up nearer. 

"I have my priorities," he smiled. Sugawara beamed back. 

He loved this man. He really, really did.

Koushi's eyes crinkled up at the sides, and his hands cupped the sides of Daichi's structured face as he breathed out softly, "I love you. I really do."

Satisfaction rushed over him as Daichi's lips gently met his, his nonverbal confirmation of his mutual feelings every bit as reassuring as the words themselves. Suga returned the kiss in full, pressing it deeper, pushing it into more heated territory, letting Daichi know what he wanted. Go on. Touch me. Daichi's lips surged against his, becoming rougher as his hands ran up underneath Sugawara's shirt, who grinned into the kiss. He also loved this, when Daichi ceased treating him like something fragile and instead treated him like someone he desired, wanted to take so badly. It made him feel alive, wanted, special. The only one Daichi would ever treat like this, the only skin Daichi would whisper sweet reassurances against, the only one he would ever love. Stripping off Daichi's shirt, Suga let out a tiny gasp as he tugged him closer, up against his broad chest, to nuzzle his neck tenderly. With a soft smile, Suga tilted his head to the side and threaded his fingers through Daichi's hair. Only thinking about Daichi, how lucky - well, luck wasn't everything to do with it - he was to have him.

Neither of them saw Sugawara's silent phone light up with Oikawa's face displayed on the screen. If they had - if one of them had thought to check up on him, if they had remembered the day - even glanced over, maybe Oikawa wouldn’t have been left alone for so long. 

Maybe when Iwaizumi returned, things wouldn’t have been so bad.

\---

Oikawa lay the phone down with trembling, rigid fingers. Sugawara didn't pick up. He didn't care, did he? No, that wasn't true. He'd told him to call when he was feeling like this, and he wouldn't have said that if he didn't mean it. He was there for Oikawa before, but...

_ He puts his dear Daichi above everyone else. You're second to him, and you know that. He'd choose Daichi over you in a heartbeat, and it's the same with Makki and Mattsun. Both of them would rather be the other than you. _

Stop, Oikawa willed the voice. My friends care about me. I know that!

_ Do they really? _

Stop! They do.

_ How can you be sure? When was the last time Suga dropped in to see you? When was the last time Mattsun and Makki slept over? They're tired of you.  _

This time, Oikawa’s plead was physical.

“Stop,” he almost begged, and he cast a desperate glance over to his phone. Maybe Suga would call him back soon, see the missed call and realise that he...he might need some company. 

Dropping his head down into his hands, fingers grasping onto the perfectly trimmed strands of hair, Oikawa wished he could cry. He never did. He just numbed himself. 

Twenty minutes. 

Oikawa couldn’t hear the buzz of the irrelevant men chatting about the upcoming match, but the clips of the tinny roar of the crowds in the stadium filtered through like a truck. He remembered the surge of adoration, the rising voices and screams every time he stepped into those bright, bright lights. The shallow speakers on the television could never capture the real sound of the people surrounding you, around your court, around your team, the real sound of swelling hope, of almost sure victory. Because he was there. Oikawa was there, and his team trusted him, so much so that they’d follow his commands faithfully, help and support him whenever they could. 

Eighteen minutes.

Oikawa decided that one bottle wasn’t enough. He rose from the couch, from the memories, and swayed into the kitchen, but one bottle was all he had left.

Oikawa whistled as he locked his front door, locked away his entire apartment from outside clutches, as if he cared about anything else than his empty alcohol cupboard. Striding down the stairs, he greeted everyone on the way down cheerfully, like the thought to hit a twelve year old had never even crossed his mind. Shop, his mind chanted. Store, store, alcohol. Cheap alcohol. Oikawa kept on whistling the entire way down to the nearest market, only pausing to drag on his cigarette. 

He'd dealt with Iwaizumi's breakdown, and now it was high time to feed into his own.

\----

**the bae :** issei have you been in contact w oiks since yday

**my cheese filling :** you’re literally in the room next to me why are we texting

**the bae** : im lazy u know this

answer the q

**my cheese filling :** nope but he was acting weird im worried

**the bae:** me 2 i think its b/c of competition season 

**my cheese filling:** should we go nd check on him

**the bae :** probably hoddup im gonna call him

 

Oikawa’s phone vibrated just as he was selecting some six bottles of pure vodka from the shelf - beer was utterly useless. Lazily, flatly, he gazed down at the caller - Makki. Why? Why would Makki call him?

 

“Makki! How’re you?”

“I’m not interested in small talk, Oiks. What was up with you yesterday?”

“What do you mean? I was my usual charming self, of course.”

Oikawa hummed as he loaded the last bottle into his basket, pressing the phone in between his ear and his shoulder. 

“You left sort of abruptly. Issei noticed too.”

“Did I, now?” Oikawa smiled winningly at the cashier, who blushed and dropped their gaze downwards. “I probably had something to do, sorry. Was it rude?”

“The question isn’t if you were rude or not. It’s if you’re doing alright or not.”

“Why would you ask that? I’m fine,” Oikawa lied through his shining, white teeth. “I have Iwa-chan living with me now, remember? There’s nothing to worry about!”

Why, Oikawa wondered, was he lying to Makki?  Why, when he wanted to talk to Suga earlier?

Although, thinking back, he probably wouldn’t have told Suga the truth either. He’d intend to, of course, but it never quite worked out that way. It was like taking a scalpel to his chest and slicing downwards - painfully open and something only he could do. 

“Cut the shit, Oikawa. If you need us to call over, we will. Actually, you know what, fuck this, we’re coming over-”

“No, no!” Oikawa hastened to cut him off, frantically making up an excuse on the spot. He never wanted anyone to see him like what he knew he’d become. “There’s no need to waste Mattsun’s precious petrol, and you don’t want to damage his car again, do you? I’ll tell you if I need you two, I swear.”

Because it would be those two, and it would be Oikawa third wheeling constantly. It wasn’t a good feeling, knowing that the other two people in the room were closer than Oikawa would ever be to them, giggling amongst themselves with their own inside jokes they’d created when he wasn’t there and didn’t get…

Oikawa didn’t need that right now.

Makki fell silent on the other end, and Oikawa held his breath as he packed the bottles into a bag, then slipping the card his father had given him into the welcoming slot. There was the beep, the goodbye greeting from the shy cashier, and Oikawa’s large farewell smile before Makki replied with a query of his own.

“Is Iwaizumi there?”

“Yes,” slid off Oikawa’s lips without hesitation as he strode out of the shop. “See? I’m not alone, he doesn’t have to work until six today.”

Makki was quiet for another few seconds as Oikawa held his breath, checking his phone.

Five minutes.

He could make it back to his apartment by then, if he speed walked. 

“Fine,” came the deep voice in his ear, and Oikawa almost jumped. “As long as Iwaizumi’s there.”

“Yes, don’t fret about it, Makki! I’ll see you tomorrow at training anyways!”

Makki hesitated, and Oikawa flinched, thinking maybe he injected too much enthusiasm into his voice and overdosed on the cheerfulness. Makki wasn’t stupid. 

“Tomorrow, then,” Makki said seriously. “I’ll ring you in the morning.”

“Yes, yes,” Oikawa said, impatient to get off the phone. His shoulder was beginning to ache from the strain of holding the phone between his ear and shoulder, along with a plastic bag swinging from each hand. “See you then!”

Oikawa let Makki hang up before deftly dislodging his mobile, half-lifting his hand to catch it as it slithered down his arm, before it smashed on the pavement.

Three minutes. 

Oikawa exhaled deeply and walked faster.

\-----

Jesus, Iwaizumi was tired. Thank fuck Oikawa’s apartment had a working elevator. He didn’t think he could’ve faced hauling himself up five stories of steep stairs. Kiyoko had tried her best to handle all the work built up over the days Iwaizumi had been gone, but there’d still been so many problems hanging on and parts needing ordering and difficult customers to deal with that it had just been a shitstorm of a day. 

The first thing that hit Iwaizumi when he halted outside Oikawa's door was the sheer stink , roping around Iwaizumi’s face as he raised his hand and knocked. The stench of cigarette smoke seeped out from the apartment into the hallway, powerful and highly unwelcome. The unsettlement that had been residing in the depths of Iwaizumi's stomach all day surfaced, whispering that it had been right all along. Shut up, Hajime told it, knocking on the door again, more firmly this time. He's fine. 

There was no response from the other side of the door. 

"Oikawa," Iwaizumi called out, quietly at first. "Oikawa, answer the door. Oikawa!" 

"Can I help you?" 

Unnerved, Iwaizumi spun around far too quickly, causing the tall, elegantly dressed lady to step backwards. 

"Ah...sorry, I got startled," Iwaizumi explained as the lady scanned him up and down closely. Iwaizumi suddenly was very grateful that he hadn't worn his overalls home. 

"It's perfectly alright. So, tell me, what's your occupation?" She smiled charmingly, but it showed too much of her gums. It reminded Iwaizumi of Oikawa's forced grin. 

"I've got three," Iwaizumi said slowly, cautiously. Why the fuck did she want to know? "You?" 

She arched a flawlessly shaped eyebrow. "Three? You don't specialise in any area? I am a doctor. Are you Oikawa's roommate?" 

"Uh, yeah," Iwaizumi answered, confused as to why she would ask that. On the other hand, her being a doctor confirmed what he'd thought before - this was a very upper class area. 

"Nothing more?"

"His friend." 

"Anything else?"

"Nope." 

Unfortunately, he wanted to add.

"Glad to hear it," she sniffed. "Homosexuals are all very well, but not near us, don't you agree? I've had suspicions about Oikawa in there for a while-"

"That's what this bullshit talk is about? Whether I'm fucking Oikawa or not?!" Iwaizumi's eyes bolted into narrow slits, his body automatically tensing to fight. They were the same everywhere, weren't they? Why couldn't they they piss off and leave them alone? He was sick of this.

"If you want to phrase it in that vulgar way." 

Perhaps picking up on how badly Iwaizumi wanted to punch her, she straightened, but did not back away any further.  "If you don't agree with my views, please feel free to discuss them with me in a civil matter." 

Gritting his teeth, Iwaizumi forced his strained fists to loosen and drape harmlessly down by his sides. He couldn't cause any trouble here, because it would mostly be trouble for Oikawa, not him. Oikawa. Oikawa. He had to get into the apartment. He didn't have time to fuck around with this bitch. 

"I'll pass," he told her, then turned back around to knock loudly on Oikawa's door yet again. 

"If he isn't answering, maybe he would prefer to be left alone," came the very, very unwanted suggestion from behind him.

"Fuck off. I'm not leaving him alone any longer." Iwaizumi rattled the doorknob in frustration, cursing himself. Why hadn't he thought to ask Oikawa for a spare key? He was living here now, for fuck's sake. 

"In that case. I think I'll be taking my leave."

She straightened her cardigan.behind him, but he barely heard her, too caught up in the concern breaking open his chest.

"Oikawa!"

Oikawa couldn't hear him. Or was ignoring him, maybe. Iwaizumi was sure of it now. Fumbling about with his phone as the lady he didn't care about clicked away on her precariously high heels - probably going out for the evening - Iwaizumi finally found the contact he was looking for. 

the perfect one. 

Tapping on the "call" option, Iwaizumi held it up to his ear, one hand anxiously opening and closing by his side as it rang out. And kept ringing, and ringing, and ringing. Iwaizumi could hear it in the apartment. Oikawa was home, so why the hell wasn't he answering his door? Because he began drinking at nine this morning, Iwaizumi's memory supplied. Because he's probably passed out on the couch by now. Shit, shit. How much did he drink? Iwaizumi couldn't smell any alcohol, not even a hint of it, but that didn't mean it wasn't there, far from it. It could just be masked by the stench of smoke, too.  

"Oikawa!" Iwaizumi called once again, pounding his fist on the wood, louder and more frantic this time. "Open up!" 

Again, no answer. "Fuck," Iwaizumi muttered, mind casting for any solution. Oikawa mentioned that Matsukawa had a key to his apartment, right? Iwaizumi had his number from the time he fixed his car, so he could call him. The only question was how quickly Matsukawa could get here, but there was only way of finding that out. Iwaizumi pressed call. 

"Iwaizumi?" 

"Matsukawa. Sorry for calling suddenly like this, but Oikawa's not answering his door and I don't have a key to get in." 

“Fucking Oikawa-”

He heard more muffled swearing on the other end, some rustling around, Hanamaki's faint voice, and then Matsukawa addressed him again. 

"We'll be there in ten minutes, Iwaizumi. Hang on." 

"Alright." 

The line cut off, and Iwaizumi was left to wait for one of the longest ten minutes of his life. It reminded him of loitering around in the hospital after the accident, worry making it impossible to sleep, unsure if his mother was alive or if the doctors would come out of her room shaking their heads in pity, eyes full of practised empathy. He had no idea what condition Oikawa was in. Did he have enough alcohol to drink himself to death? Stop, Iwaizumi ordered himself, but his inner voice shook, unnerved by the memory. Oikawa isn't dead. He hasn't gone into a coma either. Don't be ridiculous. He's probably just unconscious. He really hoped so, because if he was passed out he couldn't drink any more. It would honestly, probably be the safest option for Oikawa at this point. Iwaizumi only knew two types of people who drank at nine in the morning, and that was alcoholics and the troubled. He didn't think Oikawa was an alcoholic - yet, in any case - so that really only left one option, and Iwaizumi had known that anyway.  He'd just never had time until now to address it.... Well, frankly, that was an excuse he’d told himself. 

He had ignored it.

Iwaizumi grimaced, his fingers flexing around air as the truth of it hit home. Maybe it was all an excuse, him always having to rush off to work when the opportunity arose to ask Oikawa about it, to discuss it with him openly. He had arrived early for work today, but had chalked it down to the fact that he didn’t know exactly how long it would take to get there from Oikawa’s, and had therefore chosen to be careful, leaving sooner than necessary.

Whatever the reason, Oikawa was left alone in his apartment, and Iwaizumi had no idea what the fuck happened to him. The first shot of fear shot through Iwaizumi, and his fingers snapped shut into fists. 

He thought of this morning, when he’d gotten back from his run, Oikawa’s warm arms wrapped around his neck, soft breath on his skin, even softer reassurances passing over his gentle lips. He thought about how Oikawa had stayed up with him when Iwaizumi had been too fearful to go back to sleep, supplying endless cups of coffee and limitless comments that kept Hajime from thinking too much. He thought about how Oikawa’s true smile outshined the sun and all the stars put together, and how his chest felt like it might cave in every time he carefully brushed against Iwaizumi’s shoulder passing him, or when he playfully teased Iwaizumi with a wonderfully skewed grin, perfect in its flaws. He thought about Oikawa, and how much he’d underappreciated him.

Iwaizumi swallowed, hard. 

Only two minutes had passed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't hate me  
> it won't be too bad I swear  
> ............maybe  
> thank you so much for all the support <3  
> i hope you all survive school (those of you in school)


	11. The Many Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay?”  
> “Okay.”  
> “We’re not remaking the fault in our fucking stars here, Issei.”  
> “Shut up and lift Oikawa already.”  
> “Love you too, babe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i??? got this done quicker with school?????  
> also this was one of my fave chapters to write for some reason, so i hope you enjoy!  
> i adore all your comments and special thank you to the regular commenters, you know who you are <3

 

 

Exactly eight minutes later, Matsukawa strode up to beside Iwaizumi, Hanamaki right behind him.

“Fucking Oikawa told us that you’d be with him until six,” Hanamaki told him grimly as Matsukawa silently jammed the key in the keyhole.

“Why would he do that?” Iwaizumi’s heart was a mess, but he was trying his hardest not to show that.

“To make sure we didn’t go to check up on him,” Matsukawa supplied, pushing the door open. “He doesn’t like others around when he gets like this.”

Iwaizumi was the first one in, with quick steps and wide, green eyes fearing the worst. A moment into the hallway, something crunched underneath the sole of his shoe, the sound ringing out ominously as he froze. Glass, it was glass from the pulverised mirror swaying on its hook beside the door. It sparkled against the wooden floor, and Iwaizumi almost threw up a little in worry. Had the same thing that happened to him happened to Oikawa? Was he slumped over the kitchen table, bleeding out from a hit which had cracked his skull?

"Jesus Christ," Matsukawa whispered, peering over Iwaizumi's shoulder.

"It's never been this bad." Hanamaki's face was pale. "I should've known. It gets worse every year. I had hoped..."

Any and all decorations previously clinging to the wall had been wrenched off and smashed, ceramics with cheeky declarations , framed paintings and photographs. The photographs Hajime had always passed by without a second glance. Dipping his gaze, Oikawa's honest grin rose up from beyond the shattered glass to meet him, an arm wrapped around an older, smiling woman with his slightly-curled up nose. Sister? Iwaizumi didn't know. He'd never asked.

"Iwaizumi, stop blocking the doorway and find him," Matsukawa told him, pushing him forward. "The sooner we know how he is, the better."

"I think it's pretty fucking obvious how he is."

Iwaizumi's bitter outburst surprised all of them, himself most of all.

Why was he so angry? Maybe it was because he didn't know nearly enough about Oikawa to feel responsible, but he did. Maybe it was because he'd allowed this to happen. This was at least partially his fault for ignoring the signs.

"It doesn't matter," Matsukawa answered calmly, brushing past Iwaizumi, the awful noise of more breaking rising up into their ears. "We need to see how he is. The state of the apartment can wait."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right." Iwaizumi swallowed down his ...fear? anger? and joined Matsukawa in the hallway, a seemingly shell-shocked Makki following. They split wordlessly, Iwaizumi taking the kitchen, Hanamaki the bedroom, and Matsukawa the sitting room.

It didn't take them long to find him.

"He's in here."

Matsukawa's voice. Iwaizumi hastened over, his heart being held hostage in his throat. Laying on his back across the coffee table, a sort of beautiful destruction surrounded Oikawa, who had his white earphones in and was seemingly unaware of his friends approaching. More clear, sharp pieces of glass were scattered around everywhere - Iwaizumi guessed they were once bottles, from the intact, globed ends he could see. That wasn't the main feature though, as it was in the hallway. Not by a long shot. Long, gaping chasms cracked across the television's surface, and crimson slowly seeped from Oikawa's right fist to match the crater where all the fractures radiated out of. Droplets ran down his splayed, still fingers to splatter out on the floor, adding to the growing pool, a couple of inches wide. Concern almost as intense as the sick feeling in his stomach rushed up in Iwaizumi's chest as he knelt by his shoulder, the two others crowding around an unmoving Oikawa too.

It took Iwaizumi a second to realise Oikawa's lips were moving, mumbling words rhythmically.

 

_My chest is on fire_

 

Oikawa's features were relaxed, his eyes closed with the peace of one emptied of all their anger, with hardly a shift of his eyelashes. His lips were the only part of him that moved.

 

 _And my head just_ **_won't_ ** _die_

_I guess I'm lying cause I want it_

_I guess I'm lying cause I don't_

_Cause I just feel so_ **_tired_ **

_She said you ain't you when you're like this_

_This ain't you and you know it_

 

Oikawa's lips hesitated, then whispered the next lines so softly Iwaizumi had to lean in to hear the quivering words.

 

 _And I said that's_ _the_ ** _point_**

 

"Oikawa?"

Iwaizumi flinched when he heard how unsteady his voice was, but thankfully Oikawa's other friends took over for him. Matsukawa clasped a hand around Oikawa's limp shoulder, and it was scary how he didn't react, despite not hearing them there, not seeing them there. Hanamaki extended a finger and tugged one earphone out swiftly, and one of Oikawa's eyes creaked open. It shocked Iwaizumi to see how unfocused his hazy gaze was, how unsure every shift of his half-lidded eyes were.

"Fuck, he's well out of it." Matsukawa voiced the obvious. "Takahiro, go check that cabinet. Try and find out how much he drank."

That cabinet? Iwaizumi questioned, and once again the sense of how he really didn’t know Oikawa closed up his throat.

As Hanamaki was getting to his feet, Oikawa suddenly lurched over onto his side and hurled, clear, foul liquid pouring onto the floor beside the puddle of blood. He went to uncertainly wipe his mouth with his right hand, and almost scratched up his chin before Iwaizumi caught his wrist.

"Don't do that," he hissed, feeling the sticky sensation of drying blood on his palm. "You'll just embed the glass deeper."

Oikawa stared at him for a long, long moment, as just realising he was here, as if he couldn't quite recognise him. Then a bleary smile crossed his face, slow and detached.

"Iwa-shaan," he slurred out, then vomited again, almost hitting Iwaizumi's legs.

With a grimace, Iwaizumi shuffled away to a hopefully safe distance, still keeping a hold of Oikawa's wrist.

"You're a fucking idiot, Oikawa," Matsukawa breathed out, casting a glance around at the dents in the side of the couch. "Were you watching Kageyama play again?"

It took a second for the question to pierce through Oikawa's woolly mind, but then he nodded vigorously and spurted out something out Hajime couldn't quite catch. "What did he say?"

Matsukawa's expression was grim.

"He said they won. That's what gets to him the most. That they can win easily without him there. I'm guessing they were up against a particularly strong team this time."

Hanamaki scrambled back into the room, holding up a piece of white paper. "This receipt is for six bottles of vodka, and there's three left in the cabinet."

"That's not good," Matsukawa muttered as Iwaizumi's eyes widened. It was that bad? That Oikawa would go out and buy six bottles at once?

"Three bottles over...how many hours?" Matsukawa mused. "Half nine this morning, likely. That's when the match started, so that’s around eight hours, with a bottle roughly every three hours. He should be okay, if that's the case, given his alcohol tolerance. Barely."

"Are you sure?" Iwaizumi asked, fingers clenching unconsciously around Oikawa's wrist, hating how sluggishly Oikawa's movements were. It wasn't like Oikawa at all to utterly smash his apartment...but then again, Iwaizumi had never seen this side to him before. "Shouldn't we take him to the hospital just in case? His hand, too..."

"Heeeeyy!"

The next instant, Oikawa had draped his upper half over Iwaizumi's chest, only his legs still on the slippery table. He drew his arms warmly around Iwaizumi's neck, comfortably settling his face in the crook of his neck as Iwaizumi fought off the heat working its way up his neck. Oikawa was drunk. It didn't count if he was out of his skull. The thought aided him to shove back his crush somewhat, struggling to his feet - have you ever tried to stand up when a drunk person was clinging to you? It's not easy - and drawing his arms around Oikawa's waist to support him.

"Come on," he said gently, already mapping out a plan of what to do with him. Get him into bed, fix up his hand - Iwaizumi had brought his- wait, shit, no! All his medical supplies had been robbed.God damn it.

"Ah, I think he's back to the clingy stage," Matsukawa observed, gaze falling his still-bleeding hand, drips staining the back of Iwaizumi's shirt. "He'll be fine, if he paced himself. I'm just thankful he didn't decide to drink a fourth bottle."

"Me too," Iwaizumi breathed out, feeling the quiet rustle of Oikawa's natural, unstyled hair brush against his ear. "He needs to go to hospital for his hand, though."

Both Matsukawa and Hanamaki nodded in agreement, beginning to breathe easier. Oikawa would be okay, and frankly, they knew they  were lucky, that he could've caused himself a lot more harm than a cut-up hand.

“We should bring him in when he’s sobered up a bit,” Hanamaki suggested. “I’m worried what would happen if we brought him in like this.”

Oikawa didn’t give any indication of having heard anything, his head lolling onto Hajime’s shoulder freely, his breathing turning audible and even.

“So let’s make sure he doesn’t damage it further and bring him in tomorrow,” Iwaizumi concluded, and got two nods in response.

“You’re dragging him to bed,” Hanamaki told him flatly, but added on a small, wicked grin. “He’s latched onto you now, your problem.”

“I think he’s fallen asleep, actually,” Matsukawa commented, bending over to observe Oikawa’s tightly shut eyelids. “Probably for the best. He can’t punch any more tvs like that.”

Iwaizumi snorted, appreciating their effort to lighten things up, despite all of them only shaking the deep-rooted sense of urgency and worry now.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t do any more damage, to himself or anything else,” Hajime assured them, shifting with a grunt so Oikawa didn’t slip down onto the floor. He was heavy.

“You sure? I know Oiks can be a bit...clingy at times. He tends to glue onto people, and it can be annoying.”

Iwaizumi blinked at Matsukawa, bemused but not surprised. “I don’t mind.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa exchanged a glance, then turned their skeptical gazes back to Hajime.

“Look, if he ever gets too much, just call us, alright?” Hanamaki offered, patting Oikawa’s back. “We know he can be a handful.”

“You’re talking about him like a troublesome pet,” Matsukawa deadpanned, quirking an eyebrow upwards.

“I thought we agreed that he’s our angsty teenage son who causes conflict every now and then but whom we love dearly,” Hanamaki shot back readily. “You know, the inwardly soft bad boy in films that gets with the girl protagonist at the end.”

“Oikawa is innocent and pure. He’s no bad boy,” Matsukawa answered, placing a hand over his heart to act shocked. “He would never smoke or drink or do drugs. Not our little boy.”

“Well, our ‘innocent and pure’ son’s puke is currently splattered everywhere, and it stinks.”

“Um, I’m just gonna take Oikawa to the bedroom-” Iwaizumi tried, but the duo were on a roll.

“You’re not taking our precious son to bed!”

“Takahiro, darling, please. He has to grow up sometime. You have to let him go.”

“Fine…” Hanamaki brushed an imaginary tear out of his eye. “At least use a condom, you hear me?”

Hajime decided to just start hauling Oikawa into the hallway, trying to avoid the gathered clumps of glass. He didn’t want to have to pick out shards from Oikawa’s feet as well, thank you very much.

“You wanna help?” He grunted out, eyeballing up the duo who were trailing him, standing nearby.

“Nah.”

“Much more entertaining to watch you struggle.”

Iwaizumi stopped dead in his tracks, Oikawa sagging down lower in his arms, and glared at them. Matsukawa and Hanamaki returned his stare, and there was a period of about thirty seconds where not one of them spoke, not one of them moved, and Oikawa progressively sunk lower to the floor. (Iwaizumi was strong, but constantly holding up Oikawa was worse than heaving all of his belongings around all day.)

Eventually, Matsukawa grinned, almost in complete sync with Hanamaki’s abrupt declaration.

“I like this guy, Issei. Can we keep him?”

“Perhaps, babe, I’ll check up on the adoption conditions later. For now though, let’s help out this poor guy. I bag Oikawa’s right leg.”

Matsukawa stooped down and grasped Oikawa’s right ankle, nodding across to Hanamaki, who mimicked him, taking hold of Oikawa’s left calf and nodding right back.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“We’re not remaking the fault in our fucking stars here, Issei.”

“Shut up and lift Oikawa already.”

“Love you too, babe.”

“Please,” Iwaizumi interrupted, desperately trying to cling onto the last shreds of his sanity. “Can we just get him into bed?”

“I don’t think that’s ethical, Iwaizumi, considering his current state,” Hanamaki said as Matsukawa snickered. “Phrase it some other way.”

“One, two, three, lift,” Iwaizumi announced, ignoring his comment before he got too deep into conversation with the two of them. He had a feeling he wouldn’t return anytime soon.

Surprisingly, the two of them complied, and they began shuffling towards Oikawa’s bedroom, thankfully reaching it without incident. “Incident” didn’t include the second when Matsukawa accused Hanamaki of feeling up Oikawa’s calf and cheating on him, then almost dropped the leg he was responsible for.

Matsukawa flung back the duvet, and Iwaizumi and Hanamaki eased him carefully onto the mattress, drool beginning to drain out of the corner of his mouth.

“Ew.” Hanamaki scrunched up his nose as Iwaizumi gently lay the back of Oikawa’s head onto the pillow, then quickly checking him over for any other injuries. There didn’t appear to be any others, though, to Iwaizumi’s relief.

“You can go now, if you want.”

Matsukawa and Hanamaki looked over at Iwaizumi in confusion, who continued on.

“I can handle things from here. There’s a first aid kit here, right? I can temporarily patch up his hand with that so it doesn’t get worse.”

“No way.”

“We’re staying.”

“We’ll tidy up the hallway, or something,” Hanamaki offered.

Iwaizumi’s lips broke into a small smile as he nodded, grateful.

“Thanks.”

“We’re leaving Oikawa in your care. Try not to fuck him up any more, I think if he had any more issues his head would implode,” Matsukawa told him lightly, but there was a little bit of an undercurrent to his voice, something that said, _please don’t hurt him_.

Iwaizumi nodded seriously, the smile melting off his lips.

“I won’t.”

“Good, good, then we’re all cool,” Matsukawa said, giving a two-fingered salute as he pushed Hanamaki out the doorway. “Come on babe, it’s time to get domestic.”

Hanamaki’s smart response was lost to Iwaizumi as his gaze - and focus - turned back to Oikawa, peacefully breathing on the bed, right arm hanging out over the edge. Crouching down, Iwaizumi took it in his own tenderly, examining every little wound and slit in the pale skin intensely, memorising every shred of glass embedded in his beautiful fingers. Fortunately, the inside of Oikawa’s wrist wasn’t harmed, apart from a few scratches. A shudder shook through Iwaizumi as he thought of what might’ve happened if a piece of glass had pierced his skin at just the right depth and angle. Shaking his head, Iwaizumi tried to banish those types of images from his mind, along with the sense of guilt and responsibility. It wasn’t his fault Oikawa drank too much and got like this. It was his fault for not seeing this coming and preventing it, not making Oikawa talk to him. Blowing out a deep sigh, Iwaizumi straightened, trying to get rid of the throbbing hurt in his chest. He couldn’t dwell on what might have happened, or what he should’ve done. The apartment was a mess, Oikawa was passed out and bleeding, and Iwaizumi had a lot of work to do.

Three hours later, and the hallway was more or less tidied up, the walls looking very bare without all those stupid ceramic tiles and the total absence of any photographs. The mirror hung by the door still, straightened, as Hanamaki and Matsukawa bade Iwaizumi farewell.

“Thanks for all your help,” Hajime said as they loitered outside Oikawa’s door.

“Yeah, well, we’d stay longer, but…” Hanamaki shrugged. “I think you got this.”

Matsukawa examined Iwaizumi for a second before slowly nodding his head in agreement. Iwaizumi felt a shiver race up his spine. Was he starting to suspect? Surely not. He couldn’t have picked up on Iwaizumi’s feelings that quickly, definitely not when Oikawa was unconscious. After all, it was Oikawa that latched onto Iwaizumi like a baby koala, not the other way around.

“We’ll come back tomorrow sometime,” Matsukawa informed him, firing a friendly punch into Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “See how he is.”

“Better, with any luck,” Iwaizumi responded, and Hanamaki pulled a face.

“I bet he’ll be all irritable and douchey from the hangover. Have fun with that.”

“It’ll be fine.” Iwaizumi shrugged. “I can handle an annoyed douchebag.”

“Glad to hear that.” Matsukawa flashed him a smile. “Take care of him, okay?”

“How about you take care of me?” Hanamaki breathed, right into Matsukawa’s ear, but loud enough for Iwaizumi to hear, loud and clear. “In the car. We can park it in that one nice alleyway-”

“So I’ll see you tomorrow,” Iwaizumi cut in, and the instant Hanamaki raised his hand in farewell, he shut the door.

That was a close one.

Iwaizumi’s phone drew his attention, tapping the screen and holding it up to his ear.

“Yeah?”

“Iwaizumi, I need your help at the shop, pronto.”

Ukai’s voice.

“I..uh-”

Iwaizumi hesitated. He didn’t want to leave Oikawa, although he’d cleaned up and bandaged his hand as much as he could, as carefully as he could, hopefully preventing him from injuring it further.

“I’m not feeling well today,” he lied, feeling terrible but knowing there was other people he could call to help out.

He heard Ukai’s frustrated huff on the other end, and almost regretted his decision. He hated letting people down, and he did need the money. But the thought of leaving Oikawa alone with two more bottles in the cabinet made him bite his tongue.

“Fine. Get better soon, yeah?  It’s getting busier here, and I’ll likely need you in the future.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Ukai hung up abruptly, and Iwaizumi pressed his lips together tightly, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

He didn’t want Oikawa to be on his own when he woke up.

\-----

From the moment he woke up, Oikawa's mind was slowly killing him. The last strains of a song drifted into his head, pulsing powerfully around his bloodstream.

_I can drink if I feel I have to._

From the inside out, maybe he was diseased already, the sickness hatched in his mind and infecting his organs, one by one. What happened yesterday? As far as he knew, he got really, really drunk, and he knew Iwaizumi came home at five, but he couldn’t quite recall that far… A thought shot through Oikawa's dying mind.

_He's gone._

Iwaizumi probably saw him like that, he had to have left by now, nobody wanted to deal with a friend who had such a heaped pile of shit problems. Least of all Iwa-chan, who had his own issues to deal with and barely had time for an hour of training a week. And yet... Oikawa was selfish. He'd pursued and forged a friendship with him, despite knowing very well what he'd have to put up with. Oikawa knew very well that he was unstable, difficult to deal with at times. But it was alright now, because Iwaizumi would've realised that and left, found a cheap apartment overnight or moved in with Kuroo. Oikawa curled up in his lukewarm bed, embracing his knees up to his chest, staring blankly at the side of his locker. His head was noisy, pain banging on the inside of his skull, he felt like throwing up, his hand felt numb for some reason, but nothing hurt as bad as the fact that Iwaizumi saw him like that. He could only hope he hadn’t been there during the aggressive stage of drunkenness Oikawa knew he possessed.

_He's gone, you know. Just like everyone else who's ever gotten close to you. You're toxic._

What Oikawa did next was dangerous. He listened. He listened to the voice in his mind telling him all these things, and yielding, not disagreeing once. His limbs stiffened as knots rode up in his throat, but he still couldn't cry.

_You don't deserve to be close to anyone. You're a failure, and all your family know it. That's why your dad will barely talk to you, why your sister's so worried about you-_

Oikawa let it talk on, unmuzzled and poisonous, until a crash echoed throughout his flat. Oikawa jolted, eyes widening - although that made his head pulse painfully - as it was followed up by quite a lot of cursing. Oikawa sat up, his gaze brightening as his ears drunk in the voice, the familiar low, grumpy voice.

"Iwa-chan?" Oikawa breathed out, misty hope drifting into his chest, lightening the weight somewhat. Nobody answered, of course, but Oikawa stumbled to his feet unsteadily anyway, yanking open the door to his bedroom. Maybe it was just Matsukawa and Hanamaki, and they would leave before noon, but... Oikawa felt something. And once he'd staggered shakily to the kitchen and saw dark, unruly spiked hair and a broad back, he suddenly felt like crying. Iwaizumi must've heard him, because he turned around, slightly guiltily, and gestured to the sink. "Sorry, Oikawa. I accidentally broke a plate while trying to make breakfast. Did I wake you?"

Oikawa's eyes, blown wide and shining, watched as Hajime sheepishly scratched the back of his neck.

You're here.

Iwaizumi looked confused. "Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?"

Oikawa clapped a palm over his mouth. He hadn't meant to say that aloud, shit. Iwaizumi crooked his head to the side, eyes narrowing. "You haven't said anything about how awful I am that I broke your plate, and it's starting to weird me out."

"Well..." Oikawa trailed off. He couldn't summon up the words, not while Iwaizumi was there gazing at him like that, as if he was trying to appear irritated and grumpy but really he was just concerned, so worried about Oikawa that he had to try and make breakfast to occupy himself, but was so distracted he dropped a plate. Oikawa smiled. He was adorable sometimes.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “Great, now you’re smiling for no reason. That’s even weirder.”

An image suddenly swept into Oikawa's head. An image of himself closing the few feet between them in excited strides, of Iwaizumi throwing his arms out in welcome, of his warm smile as Oikawa flung his arms around his neck. More shifting pictures crowded into Oikawa's mind, one after the other, quick, quick. What it would feel like for Iwaizumi's hands to firmly clasp his waist and spin him around freely, the sound of their own laughter ringing throughout the kitchen. The close-up view Oikawa would have of Iwaizumi's radiant face, his smiling eyes, creased up so much that Oikawa could barely pick out his greenish-grey irises. Of them stopped to catch their breath, of their foreheads pressing together naturally, comfortably, and Oikawa himself happily joining their lips together. The image sent a bolt through Oikawa's body. Kissing Iwaizumi. What would he taste like? Would it be rough or gentle? Oikawa felt like he already knew all the answers to those questions. He'd taste of home, soft and gentle.

"Oikawa? Oi, asshole!"

Oikawa blinked, and Iwaizumi came back into focus, arms crossed and glaring at him. "You need more sleep, if you're gonna zone out like that."

Oh dear. Maybe Oikawa was still drunker than he thought, thinking things like what the shift of Iwaizumi’s full lips would feel against his, the sensation of a sheen of stubble rubbing against his skin - Oikawa shook his head, ringing out in protest at the movement. Get yourself together.

"Oh, no need to worry," Oikawa chirped out, waving a hand in the air. "I won't be able to sleep with this hangover, any-"

Oikawa paused, staring down at his bandaged hand. He didn't recall that happening.

"You punched your tv,” Iwaizumi explained.

"What?"

"You punched you tv."  

"I heard you the first time!"

"Then why'd you say what?"

"Because-what? I don’t remember doing that!"

Oikawa walked around and peeked into the sitting room, a tiny gasp passing over his lips. The tv did indeed look punched, with cigarette butts littered aimlessly all around the room, glass covering the floor like blades of grass.

"I didn't get to that room yet," Iwaizumi admitted, appearing beside him. "Go and pass out some more, then I'll have breakfast ready for you and have that cleaned up. Don't think I can do anything about the tv, though."

Oikawa stared at him for a moment, complete gratitude swamping his chest. "Why?"

"Why can't I do anything about the tv? I thought that'd be obvious. There's a big ass hole right through the screen. Good job, Oikawa."

"No, no, I mean...why do any of this? You could've just left and stayed with Kuroo. I know I'm so much better than him, but I'm sure he doesn't....do this," Oikawa finished weakly.

Iwaizumi looked at him in bemusement. "You're my friend, and you're letting me stay here for five yen a month. That clear enough?"

Oikawa tried to swallow down the overwhelming gratefulness rising in his throat and failed. "Thank you," he whispered, hating how faint his voice emerged.

Frowning, Iwaizumi lay a palm over Oikawa's forehead, pushing up his fringe. "Are you sick or something? You're acting less like a douchebag than usual."

Oikawa cracked a smile. "Guess I can't be perfect all the time. Poor Iwa-chan, on the other hand, can't be perfect at any time."

"I take it back. You're still an asshole."

Oikawa's smile widened, and he was starting to feel more like himself again, with this familiar routine of teasing. “Everybody needs a hobby. Mine just happens to be being horrible.”

“I think it’s time you get a new hobby,” Iwaizumi told him, placing a hand, warm and comforting, on his shoulder and gently steering him away from the the sitting room doorway. “Now go, and sleep off the rest of the vodka.”

“I won’t be able to go back to sleep,” Oikawa whined out in protest, rotating around to shake off Iwaizumi’s palm. “Let me help with the breakfast.”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea, from what you’ve told me before.”

“Aw, lighten up! A little bit of smoke never hurt anyone!”

“I don’t think that’s the issue, Oikawa. There shouldn’t be any smoke when you cook.”

“What? Next thing you’ll be telling me, there shouldn’t be any fire either,” Oikawa flashed him a grin, forced but it came easier this time.

Iwaizumi clapped a hand over his face, shaking his head but Oikawa could see the creases at the corners of his eyes, giving away the fact that he was smiling too.

“Jesus, Oikawa. How have you survived up until now?”

Oikawa’s smile flickered and faded. Sensing his abrupt change in mood, Iwaizumi dropped his hand, the smile draining off of his face. Swallowing hard, Oikawa clasped his own elbows, staring at the cabinet by Iwaizumi’s legs.

“I don’t know,” he whispered.

Hajime was silent, but when Oikawa glanced up again, his arms were outstretched, offering, reassuring.

I’m here.

Oikawa stepped forward hesitantly, and Iwaizumi met him halfway, folding his arms around Oikawa’s lower back with a steady pressure, as if he wanted to squeeze him close but didn’t dare. Iwaizumi was warm, so warm that Oikawa felt his heat, his care prickling up his skin, sinking in like the slow melt of snow into the ground. Except it wasn’t snow, oh no, it was the blissful glow of comfort Oikawa couldn’t deny. Enclosed in Iwaizumi’s arms, careful breaths puffing into his hair, Oikawa caught a brief sense of home he hadn’t felt since the day he hit five and saw how unnaturally wide his mother’s ghost smile was. The next hug from her didn’t quite feel the same.

Oikawa pressed his face against the hollow of Iwaizumi’s neck, inhaled, and held on tight.

I’m here.

Iwaizumi’s hand drifted up Oikawa’s back to curl in his hair, stroking down the roughening strands with a tenderness he didn’t know he had. His heart was hammering so hard against his ribcage he was shocked that he couldn’t hear it beating in his ears, hot blood rushing around his body fast, like he’d just leapt off a building. Oikawa had that effect on him, awakening a deep want to take care of him, to make sure he’s okay. Maybe that’s why he didn’t know what to do, because Oikawa wasn’t okay.

And Hajime had no idea how to fix that.

He could only be here, stay with him, keep him away from the alcohol. Because alcohol just pushes the problems away for a quiet period of relief, then they return with an explosion. Iwaizumi knew that very well. He’d been there, too. He couldn’t cope with the fact his mother could never wake up and his younger brother was torn from him, at first. The first year or so, he could afford to drink regularly, off the money he’d gained from selling his family home. Then it began to filter through that this wasn’t just a temporary thing, it was his responsibility to keep his mother alive. He stopped, but it wasn’t easy.

Iwaizumi turned his head and pressed his lips against the side of Oikawa’s head, just before where his dishevelled bangs started. Oikawa didn’t stir, as Iwaizumi had feared, but instead shifted nearer, his fingers clutching at the material covering Hajime’s shoulders.  

They both knew that their embrace was lasting much longer than an ordinary, friendly hug, but neither gave a damn. Iwaizumi was going to hold Oikawa for as long as he needed to be held, and Oikawa wasn’t going to let go.

Then Iwaizumi’s ringtone cut through the air, and Oikawa’s head jolted up, his arms unwinding from around Iwaizumi’s neck. Hajime started, hissing out a curse as his arms withdrew from Oikawa’s waist and fumbled for his phone.

Oikawa cocked an eyebrow. “The default ringtone? Really?”

“Didn’t get time to change it,” Iwaizumi muttered back, checking the screen. Kuroo.

“Hello?

“Iwaizumi, my main man - don’t tell Bokuto I said that -, where are you right now?”

“At Oikawa’s, why?”

“Where is that?”

Iwaizumi frowned. “Why?”

“Look, just help me out here without all these questions! Where does that dickhead live?”

Iwaizumi dipped down the phone a little and asked Oikawa, who gave him the sour answer but wasn’t very happy about it. He relayed it back to Kuroo.

“Thank fuck, it’s near here. I’ll be there in a sec, and shit, I need help.”

“Did something-” was all that got past Iwaizumi’s lips before Kuroo hung up.

Oikawa was staring at him suspiciously. “Is he bringing that Lev guy?”

“What? I don’t know, all he said was that he needs help.”

“Is he in trouble?”

“Fuck knows with Kuroo, he’s not exactly the most reliable story-teller,” Iwaizumi sighed out, turning back to the cupboards and pulling out a pan. “I’m going to make some tamagoyaki .”

“Thanks, Iwa-chan! I’d love some,” Oikawa told him brightly.

“Who said I was making them for you?”

“You did, earlier.”

Iwaizumi scowled in response, and it put a smile on Oikawa’s face. A very smug one.

“Whatever. Go back to bed.”

“I see grumpy Iwa-chan is back,” Oikawa teased, running his fingertips down his shoulder. Hajime shivered underneath the touch, a shift of his muscles that didn’t go unnoticed by Oikawa. He found that he liked the response he got from Iwaizumi when he did that, so he continued to go downwards, lightly tracing the humps and dips of his very nicely shaped arm.

“I’ll be less grumpy if you go back to bed, where you should be.”

Iwaizumi wouldn’t look him in the eye, and Oikawa began to notice a soft shade of red making its way up the side of his neck.

“It’s okay, you know, to admit you care for someone,” slipped out of Oikawa’s mouth, meaning to sound annoying but turned out breathy and weightless, as if he was suspending his voice in the air like the breath in his throat.

Iwaizumi gazed at him out of the corner of his eye, and Oikawa’s breath jumped in his throat, running around and around in breathless circles like a dog chasing after its own tail. Neither of them said anything for a few seconds, silence ticking past them, cloaking them. Until Hajime asked Oikawa a question.

“Would you?”

Oikawa broke the eye contact, glancing away as he rubbed up his forearm.

“I’m too hungover to answer that.”

Iwaizumi spun away from him, calmly walking to the fridge and producing a box of eggs.

“In that case, rest for a bit. I’ll make sure Kuroo doesn’t disturb you.”

Oikawa’s body was already moving on its own when Iwaizumi rotated back around, only to become tangled up in Oikawa’s arms.

“Thanks,” Oikawa said quickly, retracting the hug rapidly and padding towards the hallway. “I’ll be back when I smell food!”

“I don’t doubt that,” Iwaizumi called back, a small smile on his lips.

He could get used to this.

\----

“IWAIZUMI I FUCKED UP. IWAIZUMI ANSWER THE DOOR RIGHT NOW I NEED COUNSELLING AND AKAASHI’S BUSY WITH BOKUTO. IWAIZU-”

With a deep sigh and letting the tamagoyaki sit on the plate, Iwaizumi dragged the door open, temporarily silencing Kuroo.

“Keep it down. Oikawa’s trying to rest.”

“I don’t care about him,” Kuroo blurted out, waving his hands around as he hopped into the hallway. “I fucking accidentally kissed Kenma! What the shit am I supposed to do now??”

“Did you? Congratulations,” Iwaizumi said, so level-headedly that Kuroo grabbed his shoulders and shook them wildly.

“Did you hear me? I ACTUALLY KISSED KENMA. I am so, so screwed oh my god what if he hates me he’s going to hate me did I just ruin a lifetime friendship because he looked so goddamn beautiful-”

“Kuroo,” Iwaizumi interrupted, prying his fingers off of his shoulders and, with a hand on his back, steered him into the kitchen. He almost guided him towards the sitting room before thinking better of it. “It’s Kenma. He’s not going to hate you, and as for ruining your friendship, he’s probably seen this coming since you were eleven. He knows you better than you do.”

“But-” Kuroo’s shoulders were hunched as he slumped onto the seat, face in his hands. “What if he doesn’t feel the same way?”

Iwaizumi shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know if he does-”

“Thanks, mate. Feel lots better.”

“-but I doubt he’ll let it affect your relationship. It’d be you who overreacts about this and fucks it up.”

“Are you calling me a drama queen?”

“Yes.”

“Maaaaaate,” Kuroo complained. “Give me some solid advice. I’m literally dying over here.”

Yeah, not dramatic at all, Iwaizumi thought, amused.

“Alright, how did it happen?”

“Well,” Kuroo mumbled, dropping his forehead onto the table’s surface. “We were playing Super Smash Bros, and Kenma was so tired this morning that I actually won. And he was against my side - like cuddling, but not, you get me? - and he was sleepily looking up at me, doing that slight nose-wrinkle thing he does when he’s annoyed, but he wasn’t really annoyed, he was too tired, and I was gloating over my victory but he wasn’t really listening because he was tired, so I stopped talking and we were just looking at each other for a few moments and neither of us looked away so I thought-” Kuroo inhaled deeply, then barrelled onwards “-well, actually, I wasn’t thinking because I leaned over - he only comes up to my shoulder when we’re sitting down, it’s so cute - and sort of...pressed my lips to his and moved them a tiny bit, and I think he kissed back but I’m not sure because it was a closed mouth kiss, but then I freaked out and jumped up, ran out of the apartment, called you and drove over here. That’s what happened,” Kuroo finished breathlessly.

“So it was you who freaked out.”

Kuroo looked defeated. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Does this mean you’ve accepted your sexuality?”

“I wasn’t lying about liking women,” Kuroo mumbled lowly. “But...I just don’t like them as much as Kenma. Maybe it’s ‘cause I know him better, or I’ve just been around him longer, or something.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Iwaizumi reassured him. “You’re making progress.”

Kuroo offered him a half-hearted version of his trademark, crooked grin. “Yeah, I hope so.”

“I smell an ass in my apartment,” Oikawa announced dramatically, stumbling in through the doorway, still unsteady and his hair an utter mess. It might’ve been intimidating if he hadn’t looked like someone who’d slept in a trashcan for the past week, and slept badly too, with deep hollows etched in underneath his eyes.

Kuroo began cackling. “Oh, look how the mighty have fallen. Not so proud of your hair now, are you?”

“It’s still better than yours,” Oikawa shot back defensively, sliding onto a seat beside Iwaizumi. “So, ladies, what are we nattering about? The latest hot boy down our street? Or perhaps a secret crush?”

Oikawa winked at Kuroo, who stared back at him with an utterly blank expression.

“No.”

“Sounds like a maybe! Don’t be so shy, I have plenty of experience, so I more than qualify to give you advice,” Oikawa insisted, leaning across at Kuroo, who leaned backwards.

“No thanks, I’m good. I’ll ask you for advice over my dead body.”

“The way you’re going, you might very well be dead before you see any action,” Oikawa told him cheerfully, more upbeat than necessary.

“At least people don’t want to fuck me just because I’m a pretty boy,” Kuroo muttered.

Oikawa’s shoulders stiffened despite himself, and Iwaizumi caught the unnatural shift, his eyebrows lowering thoughtfully. Another one of Oikawa’s insecurities? Kuroo seemed to pick up on Iwaizumi’s body language, the fact that he may have accidentally tapped on a sore spot filtering through, reinforced by Oikawa’s slowed response.

“At least people want to fuck me.”

Oikawa’s hands twisted around each other, lifting up off of the table a few inches before pressing back down, as if wanting to rise to his hair.

“Anyway,” Iwaizumi cut into the thick silence, anxious to change the topic, distract Oikawa. “What are you going to do now?”

“Mate, I don’t know! That’s why I’m here!”

Just then, Kuroo’s phone lit up, jingling out the Legend Of Zelda theme song before stopping after a few seconds. Kuroo’s face paled as a text appeared on screen. “That’s Kenma.”

“Oooh, what did he say?” Oikawa inquired, snatching up Kuroo’s phone before he could reach it.

 

 **kenma:** come home

 

Oikawa’s face fell. “Really? That’s all he said? Come home?”

“Obviously you don’t know Kenma,” Iwaizumi said. “For him, that’s a lot to ask.”

Kuroo grabbed back his phone, shooting a pissed-off look at Oikawa as he did, yet his features softened as soon as he read the text. It was rare that Kenma requested anything of him.

“Maybe you should go back and talk to him,” Iwaizumi ventured to suggest.

Oikawa smirked, slinking an arm around Iwaizumi’s shoulders. “Or maybe you should stay here with us and fuck things up with him even more. We'd be more than happy to help you out with that, right, Iwa-chan?"

"Don't listen to him. He's a sadist at times."

Kuroo arched up an eyebrow. "You know that you're being too kind by adding on 'at times,' right? You really don't have to tell me to ignore him."

"Iwa-chan, this talking brush is mean. Stick up for me."

"No."

"I feel so attacked," Oikawa complained, dramatically swooning against Iwaizumi's shoulder. Kuroo's sharp gaze caught on the prolonged contact, a slow grin rising inwardly. Was that what he thought it was? Was it the lighting, or did Iwaizumi’s cheeks just darken as Oikawa’s hair swished against his ear?

"You feel that way because you're deliberately giving Kuroo shitty advice," Iwaizumi told him tiredly, lifting a hand to Oikawa's jaw. "Hold on, you've got something on your chin - stay still, for fuck’s sake."

Oikawa obliged with a pout, allowing Iwaizumi to rub whatever smudge it was off his skin with his bunched-up sleeve. Kuroo's internal grin grew. Oh ho ho, that was indeed a blush and not just the lighting.

"Alright, so," Iwaizumi started, turning back to Kuroo, Oikawa slipping back into his own seat. "I really think you should go back and talk to him about it."

"I second that," Oikawa commented boredly, staring out the window with his cheek slouched on his fist. "We'd be rid of you then."

Iwaizumi promptly prodded Oikawa in the ribs, forcing a little offended squeal from his throat. "What did I do??"

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes heavily at that, meeting Kuroo's gaze like, "can you believe this guy?" Kuroo chose that exact moment to reveal his crooked, knowing internal grin, winking at Iwaizumi, who seemed confused. But he wasn't going to confront it head on. That wasn't his way.

"Iwaizumi, thanks for the advice," he said, sliding fluidly off the seat, like a cat emerging from a content nap. "I think things'll be cool between Kenma and I."

"Do you want a drink or anything before you go?" Iwaizumi offered politely as Oikawa leapt up and scampered into his bedroom. "Nah, I'm all g, thanks anyway."

"Good luck, Kuroo," Iwaizumi wished him, walking him out into the hallway. "I'm sure it'll work out between you two."

Kuroo grinned. "Same to you, mate."

Iwaizumi's eyebrows lowered for an instant before catching on, his lips parting to speak. Before he could, Oikawa burst out into the hallway and appeared to physically assault Kuroo with a hairbrush, but no, no, he was just trying to brush his hair.

"The fuck are you doing?" Kuroo hissed out, trying to shove Oikawa away.

"I've decided to intervene," Oikawa announced, brandishing it lethally in his hands as he attempted to drag it down Kuroo's head. "This is too disgraceful to be left alone any longer."

"Oikawa," Iwaizumi sighed out, watching the two bicker and struggle, Kuroo all the time protesting that his hair was perfect the way it was and Oikawa claiming the exact opposite. "Stop it."

Reaching out a hand, he grabbed the back of Oikawa's shirt and yanked him back toughly, rough enough that he stumbled back into Iwaizumi's chest.

"Iwa-chan! Take my side on this, he's a mess! It's an insult for me to even look upon such hideously styled hair!"

"Sorry," Iwaizumi apologised to Kuroo, who was fixing - "fixing" - his hair, looking pissed off.

"Don't worry about it, mate. You coming to the bar tonight? It is your birthday, after all." Kuroo paused. "Happy birthday, by the way. Sorry about forgetting your card, I was kind of in a bit of a hurry leaving the house.”

Oikawa, for once, fell completely silent for a number of seconds. He’d totally forgotten that it was Iwaizumi’s birthday today, and he was the one who had made Oikawa breakfast.

He turned to Iwaizumi, eyes wide and accusing.

“You never told me!”

"Didn’t see any reason to,” Iwaizumi shrugged, then addressed Kuroo. “Thanks, Kuroo. And, about the party..." Iwaizumi's gaze darted over to Oikawa for a split second, worry creasing up his features. He didn't want to leave Oikawa alone, but if he went to a bar, would he get hammered out of his mind anyway? Then again, the last time he showed up to Kindaichi's event he barely drank. Still, better safe than sorry. Two nights in a row might be too much for Oikawa’s liver to handle.

"I think I'll stay home."

"No!" Oikawa and Kuroo protested at the same time, before Iwaizumi even had time to realise he'd called Oikawa's apartment "home."

"I'm not letting you stay here on your birthday," Kuroo argued. "You need to get out and see the lads, especially since you missed training this week."

"I agree," Oikawa declared, cocking his hands on his hips. "You can't live the life of a shut-in! Go out and be social! I know it's difficult for you, with that tiny part of your brain dedicated to social interaction, but you have to try!"

Oikawa and Kuroo glanced at each other, nodded, and then both glowered at Iwaizumi, who balked. "I feel like I'm being ganged up on."

"You are, so come with us."

"Peer pressure always works," Oikawa added.

"But...if I do that, will you..." Iwaizumi trailed off, his gaze dropping to Oikawa's damaged hand.

Kuroo followed his gaze and his one visible eye snapped open wide. "Damn, what happened to your hand?"

"That isn't important right now," Oikawa dismissed him, turning to face Iwaizumi head on. "I'll be fine for one night, Iwa-chan. Have you already forgotten that I've lived on my own for years?"

Before Iwaizumi could answer, Kuroo spoke up, tone uncaring and drawling. "There's a simple fuckin’ solution to this, you know. Oikawa can tag along with us, I guess, if he agrees to wear duct tape over his mouth."

"You have terrible fashion sense."

"My hair has been insulted enough for one day, thank you very much. Now I gotta find Bokuto to boost its confidence again."

"Hair doesn't have feelings! It's only there to twist and manipulate," Oikawa countered. "And to look good."

"Much like yourself, then."

"Iwa-chan, do something!"

“What? He’s right.”

Oikawa stared at Iwaizumi for a few moments, his lips stuck out in a hurt, stubborn pout as Iwaizumi met his gaze steadily, raising his eyebrows.

“He’s still right, no matter how much you give me that look.”

Kuroo began cackling as Oikawa’s expression grew sour, and he shoved his shoulder into Iwaizumi’s huffily. “Nobody appreciates me.”

“So, you up for the party then?” Kuroo winked. “I promise it won’t be too wild. And I think I can hold Terushima back from ordering strippers. Maybe.”

Oikawa perked up. “Male or female?”

“Both, we gotta suit the straights and the gays, you know. Can’t have anyone sitting around bored.”

"No strippers," Iwaizumi said flatly.

He didn't like the idea of Oikawa looking at anyone else.

A sting of relief rushed Oikawa's chest when Iwaizumi spoke against the idea, even as Kuroo's complaints rose to his ears.

Good.

He didn't like the idea of Iwa-chan looking at anyone else.

"Aw, you're no fun." Kuroo lifted his hand, ruffling through his hair with a slight frown. "But it's your party. Supposed to be a surprise, but poor Kindaichi's so whipped he let it slip, so congrats! You're not getting any strippers. Next you'll be telling me there's to be no alcohol."

Iwaizumi thought of Oikawa and hesitate for an instant too long.

"Hold the fuck up, you're not actually considering that, are you?!" Kuroo lurched forward and seized Iwaizumi's shoulders. "Are you out of your mind? A party without beer would be like...the bang without the big! You without your abs! Bokuto without Akaashi!  Oikawa without his shitty personality! Me without Kenma! It just doesn't work!"

"Alright, alright, I get it," Iwaizumi relented. "I wasn't really thinking about not having alcohol."

Kuroo visibly relaxed, flicking a strand of black hair out of his eye absently. "Had me worried for a bit there. Thought this ass might've somehow turned you into a seventy year old man."

"I took several years off Iwa-chan's life, excuse you. Look at how many wrinkles less he has since moving in with me."

"Oh, yeah," Iwaizumi deadpanned. "You took a good few years off my lifespan, alright."

Kuroo started grinning widely again, but then his phone sang out.

 

 **kenma:** come home

where r u

 

The grin faded from Kuroo's face.

"I think it's time to get my ass kicked by Kenma for not telling him where I am," he said, messaging him back quickly.

 

 **kuroo** : ill be right home I was at iwa's dw

 

Kenma replied almost instantly, which worried Kuroo a bit. Usually he left it a few minutes at least, or until he was finished the level or whatever. Then again, Kenma was the lowkey clingy type, the type that’d turn up in the same room as you for company then pretend they didn’t know you were in there. Does that mean that Kenma still wanted to be friends with him? Kuroo hoped so. Without Kenma...he didn’t know what he’d do without Kenma, really, and he didn’t want to think about it.

 

 **kenma:** oh ok cool

 

"I'd better be going back. Thanks, Iwaizumi. Oikawa, fuck you."

"Don't hate on people better than you, it's demeaning," Oikawa declared confidently, watching Kuroo childishly stick out his tongue in response, hand on the doorknob.

"See you later, Iwaizumi."

"See you."

"Hope I don't see you."

"Oikawa, butt out already."

Kuroo left, and Iwaizumi instantly turned to Oikawa, who frowned.

"Such a serious expression, Iwa-chan."

"Eat your breakfast, and then we're going to the hospital," Iwaizumi told him firmly.

"Hospital? Why would....oh. Okay." Oikawa grimaced as he tried to flex his hand, feeling the stretch and contract of his skin and muscles around the glass shards.

"Stop doing that, you might make it worse," Iwaizumi said, grabbing his wrist and leading him back up the hallway into the kitchen. "Now eat, shower and change, so we can get in and out as fast as possible."

"Gotcha."

Just as Oikawa was wrapping himself up in a towel  and Iwaizumi was clearing away the last of the breakfast things, his phone vibrated several times against his thigh, insistent and excited. Wiping his hands dry, Iwaizumi tugged it out and read Kuroo’s texts.

 

 **Kuroo:** he kissed me back before i could even apologise

just pulled me down by my shirt and kissed me silently it was so sweet

im act still in shock

hes beside me now

proper cuddling

hes so comfy

iwa i cant believe this is actually happening to me

kenma likes me back

mate

what did i do to deserve this

 

 **hedgehog-chan:** I really don’t know but congratulations

 

“Oikawa!” Iwaizumi called, striding into the hallway and tapping his knuckles on the bathroom door. “Update. Kenma kissed Kuroo.”

“Ooh, really? Good for him, I hope they break up,” Oikawa replied through the door, twisting his towel so it sat sturdier around his waist, then swung open the door.

“You’re so…”

His insult died horribly on his lips, Iwaizumi’s mind completely refusing to co-operate with him and blanking out entirely the second he saw Oikawa. Well, bare-chested Oikawa with wet, flattened hair that stretched down to just below his ears. Iwaizumi’s poor brain just did _not_ know how to process all that pale, damp skin dotted with freckles here and there, ringing his collarbone, speckled underneath the curve of his shoulder, shimmering with every shift of his muscles.

“....bitter,” Iwaizumi somehow managed to choke out, his mouth utterly dry of any saliva.

Oikawa chuckled, brushing past him like the second or so pause in Iwaizumi’s sentence had never happened. “Tell me something I don’t know, Iwa-chan. All my friends are paired up and I’m more salty than ever.”

I’m not, Iwaizumi wanted to say.

But...if he did tell Oikawa how he felt, if he did confess, would it help Oikawa or screw him up more? Feelings were never Iwaizumi’s forte, and he had no idea. What if they broke up? Iwaizumi couldn’t imagine never caring for Oikawa again, but perhaps this crush thing would wear off. On the other hand, if he maintained a steady friendship...he could always be there for him. No awkwardness. And if Oikawa didn’t like him back that way, it would make things strained between them. Very strained, considering that they sleep literally a foot away from each other every night, and around each other constantly whenever Iwaizumi wasn’t at work.

“Iwa-chan?”

“Yeah, yeah, coming.”

Iwaizumi ran a hand back through his short hair, trying to chill his beating, heated heart as he lumbered back into the kitchen. He could hear Oikawa in his bedroom, rustling around and hopping on one leg, presumably trying to get his pants on, with a frustrated hiss sounding out every now and then. Smiling to himself, Iwaizumi rapped his knuckles on the door, asking , “Need help in there?” before his mind caught up and yelled at him that that really wasn’t the best idea.

“Of course not! Not being able to use my right hand isn’t an inconvenience at all, Iwa-chan! I’m doing just great!”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“Not in the least.”

“Look, I’m going to come in and give you a hand. That alright?”

“Just dandy.”

Iwaizumi, with a deep breath, wrapped his palm around the handle and opened the door. Oikawa, scowling menacingly, was half-bent over, his trousers sagging around his knees, one hand frantically keeping one side from drooping down to his calf. He was still lacking a shirt, but luckily - or unluckily? Iwaizumi wasn’t quite sure which one - the material of his white briefs clung to the curve of his ass, and Iwaizumi had to rip his gaze away rapidly before his thoughts turned dirty. As he watched, Oikawa wobbled a little, his slender, lithe limbs wavering, and arm shot out to keep his balance.

“Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi snorted, hopefully hiding the fact that his face felt like it was on fire, along with the blood driving fast through his veins, and stepped forward to steady Oikawa. Oikawa’s hand couldn’t latch onto Iwaizumi’s shoulder by itself, due to his injuries, so he slung his whole arm around Iwaizumi’s neck, drawing him closer. As Oikawa’s forehead almost touched off of his own, Iwaizumi’s breath rose up in his throat, threatening to overtake him with his urge to pull Oikawa in even closer, to flatten his body against his own. To refocus himself, Iwaizumi grabbed the other side of his jeans and yanked them up firmly, surprised at how much effort it took. No wonder Oikawa was flailing everywhere when he came in.

“Jesus, how skinny are these?” Iwaizumi muttered, trying to distract himself from how close Oikawa’s body was to his. They’d just hugged this morning, for fuck’s sake. Why did the near proximity of Oikawa’s crafted lips and his long neck still affect him like this?

Oikawa’s head straightened up as he shimmied down into them, the waistband finally clinging onto his hips. “They’re named skinny jeans for a reason, you know.”

“Yeah, but still. They’re ridiculous to get into,” Iwaizumi mumbled, his mouth doing a damn good impression of a desert as he secured Oikawa’s belt. Fuck, _fuck_ , why did he kind of - okay, maybe not kind of - wish he was undoing his belt instead of buckling it up?

“This is nice,” Oikawa commented, and Iwaizumi’s ears flamed up red. “It’s like having a servant around.”

Iwaizumi was sort of grateful Oikawa pissed him off. It made it easier to shove his intense attraction to him to the side.

“I’m not your fucking servant,” Iwaizumi told him, but was unable to summon up any sharpness in his tone. He stepped away, scowling. “You can put on your shirt yourself.”

“Noo,” Oikawa protested, his fingers digging into Iwaizumi’s shoulder, tugging Iwaizumi back nearer to him. “It’s an honour to be my servant. Plus, you get paid! Isn’t that great?”

He beamed at him, and Iwaizumi cursed that grin, while grabbing what he presumed was Oikawa’s chosen shirt off of the bed. He couldn’t refuse that goddamn smile.

“I knew you’d come through for me,” Oikawa said as he extended both his arms up into the air.

“Don’t I always? Don’t sound so shocked,” Iwaizumi grumbled as he tugged on Oikawa’s shirt, perhaps a bit more roughly than he should’ve.

“I mean, I suppose you did turn up to training that one time. And saved me from those men. And patched up my hand. And now you’re dressing me.” Oikawa fell silent for a moment, humming under his breath. “I guess you’re right. How unusual.”

“Stop insulting me or I’ll smother you with your own shirt,” Iwaizumi threatened as he pulled the neckline down over Oikawa’s face, his wet hair being plastered down over his forehead and into his eyes, tightly squeezed shut. Adorable, Iwaizumi thought, then remembered he was supposed to be annoyed at him.

“You’re heartless,” Oikawa complained as he opened his eyes again, gazing at Iwaizumi, their chests almost touching with every breath.

“I…” Iwaizumi’s mind slowed down _yet again_ , trying to comprehend the sheer closeness of Oikawa, of how bright and brilliant his eyes were, of how much he wanted to grip his hair in his hands and press their lips together, soft and slow and electrifying. He suddenly found the air very thick, his chest very heavy, and it being hard to breathe properly. “I…” he tried again, this time blinking to break the eye contact and gazing off to the side. It had just been his imagination that Oikawa’s arm had tightened around his neck. “I don’t think that’s true.

Oikawa laughed then, and Iwaizumi felt lucky that his face didn’t burst into flames, or the heat of his body didn’t scorch through his clothes.

“That’s such a lame comeback.”

“Shut up, I know,” Iwaizumi mumbled, aware that Oikawa was now fully dressed, but that his arm was still around his neck, not allowing him to move away. His ears were burning, along with the rest of his face, his entire body. He wasn’t sure if he’d been this close to Oikawa for so long, and he couldn’t believe how much it affected him. Stupid, really, how much he was attracted to him. So much so, in fact, that it pissed Iwaizumi off. He began to reluctantly unsling Oikawa’s arm from around his neck, making sure to grasp his wrist and not his hand.

“Wait, before you go,” Oikawa mentioned, bending over and grabbing something up off of his floor, flashing a grin Iwaizumi’s way.

“What?”

“Socks,” Oikawa grinned, plopping down on the ground and wriggling his bare toes. “You can’t expect a poor invalid like me to put on my own socks, do you?”

“You have like two pieces of glass in your hand and a couple of scratches,” Iwaizumi pointed out, rubbing the hair at the back of his head as he sat down, cross-legged, in front of Oikawa. “That hardly counts as being an invalid.”

“It does when you’re as amazing at me,” Oikawa pouted, handing over the socks.

“I don’t see what you being amazing has anything to do with it.” Iwaizumi shook his head as he pulled the pair of socks apart and began rolling them onto Oikawa’s feet.

He had nice feet too, paler than the rest of his body, but there was still some freckles in between his toes, slim as the rest of him. His toenails were a nice length, too, not too long and jagged, but not stumps either.

I really am fucked, Iwaizumi thought with a despaired, but undeniably amused, smile. I even like his feet.

Within a few minutes, Oikawa’s socks were taken care of, and Iwaizumi straightened, pulling him up off of the floor with one hand.

“Happy now?” Iwaizumi asked as Oikawa brushed himself down.

“You know me, I’m never satisfied,” Oikawa replied lightly.

“True, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be satisfied someday.” Iwaizumi shrugged, then moved past Oikawa, lingering in the doorway. “Put on your shoes. We need to go to the hospital as quick as possible. I’ve got work later.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. I’ll be ready, Iwa-chan.”

“Good.”

Oikawa watched the door click closed after Iwaizumi, a feeling rising in his chest that he finally identified. After piecing together the vision he'd had this morning and how his still-heated body had reacted to Iwaizumi's obviously careful touches, he was sure. He liked Iwa-chan, didn't he? And not just as a friend. A friend didn't make your breath hitch in your throat when you heard their deep, reassuring voice threatening to smother you. A friend didn't make desire pool in your torso while they fumbled with your belt buckle, gaze fixed downwards, long eyelashes sweeping the air with every blink.

A grin split Oikawa's face, sincere but far from pure.

He had to tell somebody about this.

\----

 **shit hair** : so

 **walking bad hair day:** why are u texting me

 **shit hair:** iwa-chan

 **walking bad hair day:** thats a stupid nickname

 **shit hair:** stop ruining the suspense

 **walking bad hair day:** what suspense

 **shit hair:** you know him right

 **walking bad hair day:** thats a stupid question

 **shit hair:** okay you do

but how much

 **walking bad hair day:** ..........what is this rly about

 **shit hair:** has he ever dated a guy before I want to know

 **walking bad hair day:** hes never mentioned any exes since i met him and he hasnt dated a single person in that time either

except maybe if he did it in secret

but idk if hed have time for a relationship

p sure he doesnt know his own sexuality he just rolls w whatever

then again hes never dated anyone that i know of maybe hes aro

 **shit hair:** he’s bi he told me

 **walking bad hair day:** he told u and not me???

im so offended

 **shit hair:** haha i’m his fave

 **walking bad hair day:** ur a clingy bitch

 **shit hair:** i’m his fave clingy bitch

 **walking bad hair day:** oh my god

but anyway

if youre waiting for a sign that he likes u youll be fifty

 **shit hair:** but what if he doesn’t

 **walking bad hair day:** p sure he doesnt even know if he does himself

hes so emotionally dense he didnt even notice the massive crush kin had on him until i pointed it out to him and kept ruffling his hair which made it sm worse the poor kid

 **shit hair:** whatever we’re talking about me not kin-kun

 **walking bad hair day:** ah yes i forgot youre the jealous clingy type

 **shit hair:** shut the fuck up i’m chill

 **walking bad hair day:** ur about as chill as much as iwa is in tune w his feelings

 **shit hair:** excuse you!! my chill is the size of his biceps

 **walking bad hair day:** ur amount of chill is less than how much he cares about his hair

 **shit hair:** …..that was cold

I have a crisis here and you’re not helping

 **walking bad hair day:** i was supposed to help??? i thought i was just here to make fun of u lmao

just ask him out

confess to him

kiss him

idk

 **shit hair:** what if he says no

what if hes disgusted by me

kuroo youre supposed to be a sex god help me out

 **walking bad hair day:** mate ive been told by pple i look like a constipated hedgehog with bad hair

u should ask akaashi hes smooth

actually why are u bothering me ask ur own friends

 **shit hair:** they’re not answering me!! and you have no life so i reckoned you’d be free

also u know iwa better than anyone makki would just tell me to be myself or some shit like that haha

 **walking bad hair day:** asshole.

 **shit hair:** but aren’t akaashi and bokuto together will he tell bokuto

 **walking bad hair day:** no

probably not

maybe

actually, yeah

ok i get your point

iwa would know within like ten mins

maybe less

 **shit hair:** HOW DO I DO THIS

 **walking bad hair day:** whered all ur chill go

 **shit hair:** HELP ME YOU’RE HIS FRIEND YOU KNOW HIM WHAT DO I DO

 **walking bad hair day:** one sec gotta screenshot u begging for my help

 **shit hair:** fuck you

 **walking bad hair day:** okay okay ive got an idea

one sec

 **shit hair:** oh no

 

[kuroo created the group chat]

[kuroo named the group chat “help oikawa get iwa’s dick 2k16”]

 **Oikawa:** what

[Oikawa’s nickname is now desperate]

 **desperate:** uM WHAT

 **Akaashi:** Why am I here?

[Akaashi’s nickname is now mr. suave]

 ** **mr.** suave:** That didn’t answer my question.

 **desperate:** kuroo answer us you lil shit

 **Yaku** : kuroo.

 **Yaku:** kuroo. why me. who even is iwa. I don’t know the guy. why are you dragging me into oikawa’s love life i have no interest in this.

[Yaku left the group chat]

[Kuroo added Yaku into the group chat]

 **Yaku** : I hate you.

 **desperate** : same

 **Kuroo** : <3 <3 <3

[Kuroo’s nickname is now little shit]

 **mr** . **suave** : Very accurate.

 **little shit** : whatever

 **little shit:** this is to help our dear beloved oiks win over iwaizumi hajime’s heart

 **little shit** : and dick

 **little shit** : he needs help

 ** **mr.** suave**: Ask Iwaizumi if he likes Oikawa that way.

 **little shit** : thanks but thats much too simple and straightforward

 ** **mr.** suave**: Way too sensible, you mean.

 **little shit** : that too

 **Yaku** : since I’m being dragged into this against my will

 **Yaku** : what does this iwaizumi dude look like anyway?

[little shit sent a photo]

 **desperate** : HOW DI D YOU GET A PHOTO OF SHI RT L ESS IWA-CHAN

HOW

 **Yaku** : damn now I see why Oikawa wants his dick

 **little shit:** rip

 **little shit:** i train w him remember

 **little shit** : we have an entire group chat dedicated to shirtless pics of iwa

 **little shit** : poor kin dies a bit more inside w every one

 **desperate** : im

 **desperate** :

[desperate's nickname is now desperate and thirsty]

 **desperate and thirsty** : stop. tru, but stop.

 **mr.suave** : That's not quite right

[desperate and thirsty's nickname is now desperately thirsty]

 **desperately thirsty** : hEY

 **desperately thirsty** : THIS IS BULLYING

 **little shit** : this is thE TRUTH

 ** **mr.** suave:** I second that.

 **little shit** : get out if you cant handle it

 **desperately thirsty** : I FEEL SO ATTACKED RIGHT NOW

 **little shit** : mate that meme died like months ago

 **desperately thirsty** : you know what died?

 **desperately thirsty:** whatever animal's on top of your head

 **desperately thirsty:** also your fashion sense

 **desperately thirsty:** couldn't decide between the two but in both cases

 **desperately thirsty:** #rekt

 ** **mr.** suave:** You spent ten minutes thinking that up, didn't you?

 **little shit:** thats sad

 **desperately thirsty:** no!! no I didn't!!! I would never spend that long thinking about anything

 **desperately thirsty:** other than my beautiful hair

 **desperately thirsty:** which you don't have

 **desperately thirsty:** jealous yet

 **mr.** **suave:** The need for constant reassurance by comparing yourself to other people and trying to make yourself seem superior. I’m not jealous.

 **little shit:** he rly is sad

 **desperately thirsty:** shut up kuroo

 **desperately thirsty:** akaashi no I don't need reassurance I already know I'm the shit

 **desperately thirsty:** hot shit

 **little shit:** being shit isnt a good thing

 **Yaku:** muting.

 **little shit** : you break my fragile heart

 **little shit:** im gonna order lev to message him and annoy the shit out of him one sec

 **little shit:** hell be back

 **desperately thirsty:** why do u threaten pple w lev all the time

 **little shit:** once u meet him ull understand. good kid but hes mastered the act of annoyance

 **Yaku:** Kuroo, next time I see you I’m hitting you right between the legs. hard.

 **little shit:** there he is

 **Yaku:** hate to break up this little party but wasn't this chat created to help Oikawa? you're all just making fun of him

 **little shit:** same thing rly

 ** **mr.** suave:** I suppose so, but he makes it too easy.

 **little shit** : fallen prey to my expert wittiness

 ** **mr.** suave**: I wouldn't go that far.

 **little shit:** stop slaying ever1 akaashi its not fair

 **mr. suave:** I'm telling the truth.

 **Yaku:** akaashi sometimes you scare me a bit

 **desperately thirsty:** hey why doesn't yaku have a nickname

[Yaku's nickname is now short.]

 **short:** I WILL FUCKING END YOU

 **little shit:** thats why

 **desperately thirsty:** oh

[short left the group chat]

 **little shit:** rip

 **little shit:** actually seriously tho we need his help he got a gf

[little shit added short into the group chat]

 **desperately thirsty:** you got a bf too tho

 **little shit:** its different w me and kenma we knew each other forever

 **short:** fucking hell

 **short:** end my suffering and kiss this iwaizumi

 **short:** please oikawa

 **short:** help me

 **desperately thirsty:** i have no idea what or how to do that plus you’re supposed to be helping me

 **short:** you’ve banged like fourteen people how do you not know how to kiss someone

 **desperately thirsty:** I DON’T KNOW IF HE EVEN LIKES ME

 **mr. suave:** Pick up on the moment. If he’s looking at you for a few seconds, and he thinks you don’t know he’s staring, that’s a pretty good indication that he’s interested. Maybe that’s just Bokuto, though. He does a lot of gazing.

 **desperately thirsty:** iwa-chan doesn’t stare at me :(((

 **desperately thirsty:** he does threaten to hit me a lot but he never acts on it or if he does it’s rly light

 **desperately thirsty:** is that a good sign

 **little shit:** wow iwa rly is a unique soul

 **short:** I don’t know I used to hit lev a lot but I was fond of him too in a weird way

 

“Oikawa? We need to go, now.”

Oikawa jolted up off of his bed in surprise, hastily shoving his phone away and stomping his feet into his runners. “Coming, Iwa-chan!”

With one last message, he jammed his phone away in his pocket and sped out to find Iwaizumi.

 

 **desperately thirsty:** later losers

 **little shit:** jerk.

\----

"You're lucky, you know that?" Iwaizumi told Oikawa as they strode out of the hospital together, a few hours later. "You could've seriously hurt yourself."

"But I didn't," Oikawa pointed out, waving his right hand around, newly glass-free. "So we can go to training today!"

Iwaizumi looked at him blankly. "No."

"Why not?! My hand's perfectly fine, it was just some cuts and a few little pieces. It didn't even get infected! It's a sign!"

"It didn't get infected because I cleaned it every hour I could," Iwaizumi sighed out. "Not a sign. What if you damage it further?"

"How would I do that? Volleyballs aren't sharp - just like you, Iwa-chan."

“Fuck off.”

With a grunt of protest from Iwaizumi, Oikawa stripped off the main protective pad on the back of his hand and angled the stitched-up slash in his skin this way and that, as if modelling it. "See? It's fine. Plus, I promised Suga-kun we'd be there. They need me. I don't know what the team would do without me sometimes!"

Oikawa's smile didn't diminish, but it did become tighter, stretched over his teeth against its will. Matsukawa's words floated to the surface of Iwaizumi's mind. It always hits him the hardest when they win, because it means they can win without him. That they don’t need him. Heaving out a sigh, Iwaizumi outstretched his fingers and closed them around Oikawa's wrist.

"Let me see."

"You've played with that wound across your chest before," Oikawa pointed out as he allowed Iwaizumi to lift his hand up, squinting to examine it.

"Yeah, but you're a setter. Your hands are important."

"Not as important as my knee," Oikawa chirped back.

Iwaizumi's gaze darted over to him for a second, then returned to scanning every little cut, taking note of the deeper ones.

"Yeah," was all he said, turning Oikawa's hand over in his. Oikawa really did have beautiful hands. Slender and structured in a particular way that all his joints flowed together, every movement a graceful, precise wave. Oikawa wiggled his fingers, and Iwaizumi clasped them in the centre of his palm, glowering over at him. "Stay still. I'm not done yet."

Heat began spreading from Oikawa's pretty fingers into Hajime's hand, an identical heat fluttering up his neck and accelerating his heart. In a moment of homosexual panic, he let go quickly.

"Hurry up," Oikawa moaned, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "We won't make it to practice at this rate!"

"No, you're not going to practice," Iwaizumi told him. "It's too early. The stitches could pull out, or you could get an infection from the ball - it's hitting the floor the whole time, and you're the one handling it the most."

"Iwa-chaaaaaaaan," Oikawa whined, turning to beseech him with enlarged, watering brown eyes. "Pleeeeeeeeease. I haven't missed a practice since I started college! Suga-kun's going to be so disappointed."

"Look," Hajime began abruptly, striding ahead of him. "Wouldn't it be worse if you has to miss several practices because you were an idiot and strained yourself? Stay home today."

"But-"

"The doctor said to be careful with your hand, and I doubt she'd approve of volleyball."

Oikawa fell into a pout, walking beside Iwaizumi in a sulk. "You're mean."

"And you're self-destructive and reckless."

Iwaizumi’s chest stung as Oikawa’s crestfallen expression, but he didn’t back down. He knew it was for the best that Oikawa took a break, and he was going to do everything in his power to try and help him recover, mentally and physically.

"I'm sorry," Iwaizumi said. "But I can't let you risk your wellbeing like that."

"That's what Ushiwaka said when he reported me for doping," Oikawa spat out sharply, crossing his arms over his chest. "I know what's best for me! Why do you people always have to act so high and mighty? Life isn't fair, so why should I have to be?"

The sheer bitterness in Oikawa's voice caught Iwaizumi by surprise.

"You doped?" He asked finally.

Oikawa shrugged. "Wasn't a big deal, really. I had to, with Kageyama on my ass all the time. Do you know, they brought him onto the Olympic team at sixteen? Fucking ridiculous. Sixteen!"

"That's pretty amazing," Iwaizumi agreed.

"Not amazing! Irritating. It was only a matter of time before he replaced me, really. I knew that from the start." Oikawa shrugged again, as if he couldn't have cared less. "But I wanted to put up a fight. I wasn't going to roll over and let him take over my team, so I guess I...panicked a little."

"And took steroids."

"Yeah. Worked for a while, too! I mean, it fucked me and my body up slightly - just a little!-  in the process, but that was fine, as long as I was still Japan's official setter."

"Ushijima caught you?"

Oikawa's forced cheerful expression dimmed, melting right off his features, leaving them harsher than usual.

"Ugh. Yeah. My teammates were starting to suspect something, because the drugs made me moody, but I would've gotten a few more months in if he hadn't guessed." Oikawa let out a deep sigh, ringing both hands around the back of his neck and angling his face up towards the sky. "Who knew he was actually intelligent? He tried to talk me out of it first, of course, but I wasn't going to listen to anything he said. I hate him, after all! So then he told Yaku and he tried to reason with me. Didn't work, obviously. I was determined to stay ahead of Kageyama, no matter what it took. That didn’t work out, either, as you can clearly see. I got banned, I fucked up my knee entirely, and here I am.”

They lapsed into silence, Iwaizumi’s brow furrowed, some things clarifying in his mind.

“Is that why you got drunk yesterday? Because you were watching Kageyama play as the official setter?”

Oikawa rolled his shoulders back uncomfortably, as if physically trying to dodge the question.

“Maybe.”

With Oikawa, that was as good as a yes.

“I see.”

The silence reigned over them with an iron fist once again, and yet neither of them felt the need to break it. Oikawa had said all he intended to say, and Iwaizumi was still listening intently, emblazing Oikawa’s story and words in his mind. He felt like he knew Oikawa just that little bit better now, especially since Oikawa had brought it up himself. He’d told Iwaizumi willingly, and that made Iwaizumi so grateful, although he didn’t exactly know how to express it.

“I have a few hours still before I have to work,” Iwaizumi told Oikawa, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, picking up on his downturned mouth and misty eyes. “Do you want to get a coffee?”

Oikawa started, as if forgotten he was there, too busy recalling his own downfall. Then he met Iwaizumi’s eyes and smiled, warm, genuine, and one that would never make it onto the cover page of a magazine. Iwaizumi thought it was beautiful.

“Sounds great, Iwa-chan. As long as you pay, obviously!”

“Fuck off, Oikawa.”

“You’re going to have to say a lot more than that to get rid of me at this stage, Iwa-chan.”

I know, Iwaizumi thought. You’re here to stay, just like I am.

\---

The second they got home, Oikawa dumped himself on the couch, pulled out a laptop from somewhere, and fired it up. Curious, Iwaizumi leaned over to see him type in “Matango” to the search bar.

“I thought your wifi was broken.”

“I lied,” Oikawa sighed out, rolling his eyes. “You’re so dense, Iwa-chan.”

“Wait...so when you were visiting me in the hospital…”

“God, do I have to spell it out for you? I wanted to spend time with you. Do you understand that much?”

Oikawa rapped his knuckles on Iwaizumi’s skull, on the side of  his head as Iwaizumi tried to muster up a scowl, unsure how to take it. Should he be pissed off or touched? He was sort of both, and that annoyed him. He wasn’t supposed to feel two emotions at once, that wasn’t how he worked, god damn it. So he chose the easier option.

“Fuck off, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi grumped, draping his arms further over the back of the couch to flick at Oikawa’s ear. “Just because you finished high school doesn’t make you any smarter than me.”

Oikawa hummed, clicking on an ad-invested, clearly illegal, link. “I agree. What makes me smarter is that I can actually read the relationships between people.”

Can you really? Iwaizumi wondered. How has he not picked up on how strongly Iwaizumi felt about him by now? It was stupidly obvious to Iwaizumi, or perhaps that was just because he was the one feeling them. He really wasn’t sure.

“I’m intelligent in other ways,” Iwaizumi stated.

Oikawa snorted in disbelief, turning his head and angling it upwards to gaze at Iwaizumi.

“Is that what you tell yourself to console yourself?”

Oikawa's eyes were so bright, so shimmering, overblown with enthusiasm and happiness. Iwaizumi's heart missed several beats, his breath turning wonky and rapid. Fuck, fuck..... _fuck_ , Oikawa was so damn....mesmerising. And fuck, Iwaizumi was so damn gay for him. He seemed to positively shine with his own luminescence whenever he smiled, and Hajime could see clearly why so many girls adored him. He briefly wondered if that was similar to what Kindaichi saw when he looked at him, then snorted. Somehow, he didn't think so.

"What's so funny?" Oikawa inquired, appearing right up in Iwaizumi's face. Iwaizumi lifted a hand and shoved him away before his body could react to the closeness, shaking his head. "Nothing. Just wondering what Kindaichi sees when he looks at me."

“Just your ugly mug. I guess it really is true when they say love is blind, or maybe that’s just Kin-kun. He does have quite odd taste in men.”

Iwaizumi shoved at his shoulder, forcing him back over to the front of the couch as Iwaizumi leaned a bit further over the back.

“Leave me and Kindaichi alone and go back to your stupid space show.”

“It’s not a stupid space show!” Oikawa protested. “It’s a film about these castaways that end up under a spell of mushrooms that slowly turn them into mutated creatures! It’s a classic.”

“Whatever you say. Sounds stupid to me.”

“But not about space! I do have other interests apart from aliens and space, you know.”

“I do know. And those interests are just as dumb.”

“Mean!”

“You’re missing your film,” Iwaizumi pointed out as the little red slider passed three minutes.

Oikawa turned back to his laptop with a pout. “That’s because you kept distracting me.”

“Bye, then.”

Iwaizumi straightened up from being draped over the back of the couch, walking over to a single couch, trying to slow his heart rate down. This was ridiculous. How could he kept getting more and more attracted to Oikawa?

He needed advice.

 

 **hedgehog-chan:** Kuroo, can I ask you something?

 **Kuroo:** sure dude hmu

 **hedgehog-chan:** I can't believe I'm saying this, but is...it normal to want to press your friend against the wall and slowly kiss up his neck and whisper in his ear and see him blush and feel his hot skin as you kiss him gently until you're both so breathless and you can feel his fingers curling up in your hair and fuck I need to stop

But you also want to gently trace every crease on his hands and brush your nose against his and make him smile?

I can't believe I sent that

Kuroo?

 **Kuroo** : yeah mate im here

first of all waaaay too much detail

second of all this might be hard to get your head around but you just might like your friend as more than a friend

third: does this friends name start with an o end with an a and have a ikaw in the middle by any chance

 **hedgehog-chan:** I was speaking hypothetically.

 **Kuroo:** .....yeah......definitely hypothetical.....not one of your perverted fantasies.

 **hedgehog-chan:** That wasn't that perverted?

 **Kuroo:** stop right there before we get into your jerking off daydreams

 **hedgehog-chan:** I have no intention of sharing those.

 **Kuroo:** for that fact i am eternally grateful. bokuto overshares far too much and i will always be scarred.

 **hedgehog-chan:** I'm sorry for your loss of innocence.

 **Kuroo:** my innocence was already long gone but whatever. dude u like oikawa. satan only knows fuckin why, but u do.

 **hedgehog-chan:** .......

 **Kuroo:** oh no did I break u w the truth

it isnt exactly a shocking revelation mate

 **Hedgehog-chan:** I knew already, I just don't know how to react.

 **Kuroo** : ask him the fuck out it isnt that complicated

 **hedgehog-chan:** Didn't you deny your sexuality for fifteen years?

 **kuroo:** thats not the point just fucking kiss him

 **hedgehog-chan:** I just don't know how to react.

 **Kuroo:** ask him the fuck out

 **hedgehog-chan:** But what if he doesn't feel the same way?

 **Kuroo:** trust me he fucking does

hes so all over u how have you not noticed

also idk if u know but youre hot!!!! abs!!!! arms!!!! face!!!

 **hedgehog-chan:** It's Oikawa. He's always touchy-feely and overfriendly and clingy.

 **Kuroo:** only w you bro

 

Iwaizumi shifted around on his seat, glancing over at Oikawa, who was happily curled up on the sofa, his laptop balanced precariously on his lap. Really? He'd thought that Oikawa was like that with everyone. It was just his personality.

 

 **hedgehog-chan:** ..........Oh.

 **Kuroo:** now the gears are turning

finally

 **hedgehog-chan:** I've never liked someone this much before, so it's hard to process, alright?

 **Kuroo:** its hard to process how fucking long it took u to figure this out

 **hedgehog-chan:** I got there, didn't I?

 **Kuroo:** about four fuckin weeks after dickbag, yes

ok mayb not that long mayb like an hour or two but still

 **hedgehog-chan:** He's talked to you about me?

 **Kuroo:** those talks are confidential.

 **hedgehog-chan:** I'll buy you some pork buns after training.

 **Kuroo:** i refuse to be bought so easily

 **hedgehog-chan:** I'll look after Lev for a whole practice.

 **Kuroo:** what do u want to know

 **hedgehog-chan:** Knew that would work. Um...Are you serious about this? That he actually likes me back?

 **Kuroo:** oh my goddd mate have u seen yourself he does and the way he looks at u im not lyin

those looks are as gross as the way daichi looks at suga i was there for like 10 mins and i was already grossed out congratufuck

 **hedgehog-chan:** Alright, so....if I asked him if I could kiss him, he'd say yes?

 **Kuroo:** u dont fucking ask to kiss someone u gotta pick up on the moment

 **hedgehog-chan:** ? Every moment I'm with him I want to kiss him. Apart from when he's insulting me. Then I want to punch him. In the neck. With my lips. Was I going somewhere with this?

 **Kuroo:** oh my god u two are hopeless. ok. my point is that he likes u too, a lot, and u should just go for it. get it?

 **hedgehog-chan:** I got it, but I can't just grab him and kiss him.

 **Kuroo** : hed love it why the fuck not

 

Iwaizumi couldn't help himself gazing across at a blissfully unaware Oikawa once more, heat flowing across his cheeks. He'd love that too, but...how was he supposed to go about it? Maybe like Kuroo did with Kenma? Apart from the fleeing afterwards, of course. 

 

 **hedgehog-chan:** ...............

 

Iwaizumi had to rip his gaze away quickly as Oikawa paused the movie and looked over at him. "Want something to eat?"

"Nah, I'm good," Iwaizumi told him, hoping his lopsided smile wasn't too evident. Oikawa liked him back? Really?

Really?

Oikawa hummed, getting up from his seat and waltzing into the kitchen in his particular, impossible-to-intimidate style of walking. "You probably need less food than me, anyways. Your two brain cells don't require a lot of energy."

If he hadn't been out of the room already, iwaizumi would've thrown a pillow at him, hard. Instead, he returned to his phone, scowl melting off his features. 

 

 **Kuroo:** i have an odd sense that ur blushing hard rn

 **hedgehog-chan:** Am not.

 **Kuroo:** ha i was right.

 

At that moment, a familiar, high-pitched, whine shrilled from the kitchen. "Iwa-chan!"

 

 **hedgehog-chan:** Hold on, I have to tend to Oikawa.

Stop smirking.

 **Kuroo:** wasnt smirking i stg

but if i was it would be for good reason

 

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi headed into the kitchen, where Oikawa was standing in the exact middle, facing him. Not seeing anything immediately wrong-like smoke, smoke would happen if Oikawa tried to cook-Iwaizumi questioned him.

"Something wrong?"

Oikawa rolled his shoulders back in apparent offence, causing his shirt to briefly hitch up above his bellybutton, flashing his lower torso. Which Hajime didn't notice at all, of course.

"Does something have to be wrong for me to call you? Nah, I had an idea."

"Which is?" Iwaizumi asked suspiciously.

"You should come along to my nephew's training!"

"Why?"

"Why not?" Oikawa chirped cheerfully. "The one thing is, it's back in Miyagi."

“Um, I guess? I’d have to get some time off work, though…”

“You think about work far too much, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi gave him a strained half-smile. “You know why.”

“Yes, but-”

Oikawa was interrupted by his phone bursting into song in his pocket. He grimaced as he dug it out, tilting his head to the side as he saw who it was. Meeting Oikawa’s gaze, Iwaizumi nodded, indicating that it’s okay to go ahead and answer it.

"Mattsun?"

"Oh my god Oikawa, where the fuck were you at practice? I mean, I know your hand was fucked up, but that never stopped you before, right? And god, did you miss out! You’re going to be so mad.”

"Why?"

"Taka, no, I'm telling him."

"But I wanna!"

"You won't make any sense."

"It didn't make any sense!"

"It did!"

"Wait, what?"

"Shut up, I'm going to-"

"Terushima showed up to practice!"

Oikawa started, and gestured for Iwaizumi to lean in closer, pressing loudspeaker so Matsukawa's voice rang throughout the room.

"Terushima shows up, no explanation or anything, and of course Daichi goes over to him like yo you didn't answer any of our calls and Terush was like soz I've been busy-Taka! Stop!"

"You're telling it badly, let me tell it!"

"I'm just getting to the good bit, calm your ass down!"

"Exactly, I wanna tell him the exciting bit!"

"I'll let you tell him the bit later, right? Satisfied?"

There was a moment of silence, and Oikawa pictured Makki's sullen, suspicious face with scrunched up eyebrows. His decision making face.

"Fine, babe."

"Thanks, honeybuns. Where was I?"

Oikawa rolled his eyes at the stupid pet names, meeting Iwaizumi's gaze to stick a finger into his mouth, making a sickening gagging noise. Snorting, Iwaizumi nodded his head in agreement before answering Matsukawa's question.

"When Daichi asked him what was up with him," Iwaizumi supplied.

He was greeted with silence, but some sloppy, wet noises crackled through the line soon after.

"Oh my god, are they kissing?!"

Oikawa's voice was one of someone who was deeply disgusted, and very offended. "Not the time! You're not horny teenagers anymore, tell us what happened!" Oikawa said, voice cracking higher, into a whine. "I can't believe this."

"I do wish they'd get on with it," Iwaizumi admitted.

"Either Oikawa's voice has deepened an entire octave or that's Iwaizumi. Hello, Iwaizumi. Along for the ride too?"

"If you'll ever get round to telling it," Oikawa snapped sharply, impatient. "Get on with it, Mattsun."

"And here I thought you were a fan of dramatic tension."

"Not when it's being used on me! Go on," Oikawa urged. "I want my theories to be proved right."

"You had theories? Why didn't you ever tell me? I'm hurt."

"Mattsun. Tell the fucking story."

"Right, right, no need to be rude about it. Anyways, so there was Terushima, trying to act as if nothing had happened but Daichi was pushing him for an explanation, and everyone was staring at this point already, but then Sugawara came out of the storeroom."

Matsukawa paused for dramatic effect, which neither Oikawa nor Iwaizumi appreciated.

"Mattsun."

"Right, right. Anyways, Sugawara came out, and Terushima totally brushed off Daichia and walked over to him. Sugawara was wearing the closest thing to a scowl I've ever seen, and he and Terushima were like staring at each other for a few seconds before anyone spoke. Then Sugawara said, 'you're back,' and Terushima was all like 'yeah I am surprised?' At this point, everyone had shut up because something had obviously happened between them-"

"Called it," Oikawa cut in, then Iwaizumi clapped a hand over his mouth. "Ssh, I want to hear the rest of this."

"So do I, but I had to gloat," came Oikawa's stifled voice.

Iwaizumi removed his hand with a look of disgust, wiping it off on Oikawa's jeans. "Go on, Matsukawa."

"You two done flirting? Great," Matsukawa said, then promptly barrelled onwards before either of them could say anything. "Then Sugawara's mouth got all tight and pinched-"

"You're making that up. Let me take over."

"I'm not making it up, you just didn't notice it."

"I'm just as observant as you!"

"Makki, you have walked into walls several times. Shut up and let Mattsun tell the story," Oikawa sighed out.

"So Terushima punched Sugawa-"

Oikawa let out an overdramatic gasp, clamping a hand over his mouth. "Really?!"

“Holy shit,” Iwaizumi muttered.

Why’d he do that?

"Yes, really. And Daichi's shocked, but he still goes over to Terushima and is all protective of Sugawara but so confused, like the rest of us, and then Sugawara says, 'I'm sorry,' holding his cheek where Terushima had hit him and we're all so confused because what the hell is going on Terushima should be the one apologising, right? And he just stands there and nods his head. 'You should be.' That's what he said, and Sugawara just nods, telling him 'I wouldn't have actually done it. I let jealousy get the better of me. I'm sorry.' Now, Daichi's really confused at this point, and he asks them to explain what's going on, but Sugawara refuses to say in front of everyone, so they all go outside for a while. It was so irritating that there was literally no way to eavesdrop, because that's all we heard. When they came back in, Daichi was in a foul mood for the rest of the training, Sugawara seemed kind of down, but Terushima appeared fine."

"What then?" Iwaizumi pressed.

"That's all we know."

"Of course, we annoyed the shit out of all three of them, but they all refused to tell us anything. Even Terushima, who can't keep a secret to save his life. It's so unfair," Hanamaki complained down the line. "I wanna knoooow."

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whined. “This is what happens when I miss a practice! I miss out on all the good drama! I’m so annoyed!”

“Aw, fuck, Oiks, got to go, Takahiro’s about to try and do something stupid, I’ll call you later-”

The line went dead, leaving Oikawa to his intense, frustrated indignation and Iwaizumi to his confusion.

“I’m calling Suga-kun right now,” Oikawa announced, tapping in numbers quickly. “I need to find out what happened.”

“Don’t you think you might have to give him some time?” Iwaizumi suggested. “I mean, he just got punched for some reason.”

“Nope,” Oikawa said stubbornly, then called and waited for him to pick up.

And waited.

And waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and more waiting.  
> lyrics are from eden's drugs, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0rflghuHtg8  
> again, thank you so much for all the support!


	12. ARE THEY GOING TO KISS OR NOT (not renaming)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mattsun and makki try to give them a gentle, subtle push, kageyama and ushijima turn up aND UTTERLY RUIN THE ATMOSPHERE, yaku and oikawa are both avid pretty little liars fans, and man oikawa can't cook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i was reading over the matsuhana bit early in the morning and i literally locked my phone again bc i couldn't deal w their shit  
> also it's 7am, I have four tests in the next week, I've been up since five am finishing this, it's over 26k, god bless all you kudo-ers and commenters that actually keep me writing  
> and i hope you enjoy this gay-laden chapter  
> (let’s play a game called how much angst and sexual tension can I squeeze in before they finally kiss)

Iwaizumi looked at Oikawa and shook his head, sure that Sugawara would guess exactly what Oikawa wanted to know. If it was him, he wouldn’t answer any calls until he’d sorted his own head out, clear of any problems rocketing around. He had to admit, he got a shock when Sugawara’s airy voice drifted out of the phone’s speaker.

“Hi, Oikawa. How are things?”

Oikawa took a moment to stick his tongue out at Iwaizumi, in a childish display of I-told-you-so, then proceeded to answer Sugawara, voice crooning and dangerous in its softness.

“Everything’s just peachy, Suga-kun. What about you? Anything...irregular happen at practice today?”

They heard Suga laugh on the other end, sounding awfully carefree for someone who’d just gotten punched. 

“You don’t have to beat around the bush, Oikawa. I know what you want to know, so just ask me straight out.”

A half-smile appeared on Oikawa’s lips. “You know that isn’t my style.”

“Why’d Terushima punch you?” Iwaizumi questioned. 

“Oh, hello, Iwaizumi! Glad to see there’s someone simpler than Oikawa here.”

Iwaizumi frowned. “Was that a compliment or insult?”

Oikawa outstretched a hand and ruffled his hand through his coarse hair, making Iwaizumi want to shut his eyes and melt into his touch, as cliche as it sounded. At least, until he started speaking.

“Don’t you worry your two little brain cells about it, Iwa-chan. They’re working hard enough as it is.”

Scowling, Iwaizumi jerked his head away, Suga’s chuckle running through the air. “I have more than two brain cells, dumbass. Sugawara still has to tell us what happened, remember?”

Sugawara blew out a long breath, ending in a deep sigh. “I suppose everyone will find out sooner or later anyway, with Matsukawa and Hanamaki on the case. It isn’t one of my finer moments-”

“You got jealous, correct?”

Oikawa’s voice was laden with smugness he barely bothered to attempt to conceal. 

“Did you really have to confirm that? I was about to tell you.”

“So, a yes.”

Iwaizumi prodded Oikawa’s side, glowering silently at him. Rolling his eyes and picking up on his meaning effortlessly, he continued, “Pardon my interruption, but could you please go on?”

“No need for you to be so polite, I know you’re itching for all the filthy details.” Sugawara paused momentarily, and Iwaizumi could hear some voices in the background, whispering and low.

“Who else is there?” Oikawa pushed. 

“Just Daichi and Terushima.”

“What? Both of them?”

“Yes, it that so odd?”

“Seeing as one of them smacked you, yes, it is!”

“Honestly, I deserved it. I had to stop Daichi from hitting him back afterwards, he was so angry, but once I explained everything he calmed down, thankfully.”

Suga took a breath, then barrelled onwards.

“It started as soon as Terushima started training with us, as you probably noticed. He started talking to Daichi, and I didn’t mind, but then it just became…” Suga sighed, and Oikawa could picture him nervously scratching the mole underneath his eye, the habit whenever he was stressed or uncomfortable. “More, or at least I thought it was. It would’ve been fine if Daichi and I were together back then, but we weren’t, and I couldn’t ignore how Terushima was flirting with him.”

Terushima’s voice broke over the line, loud and sounding highly insulted.

“I wasn’t flirting! I flirt with everyone! That’s how I make friends!”

“He’s like you,” Iwaizumi muttered over to Oikawa.

“Don’t put me on the same level as that guy!”

“Continuing on, I decided to have a little talk with him. I simply asked him to stop flirting so blatantly with Daichi. He claimed he was just being friendly-”

“I was!”

“-and I didn’t believe him, because I didn’t think anyone could be that simple-”

“Hey!”

“-but I overreacted a bit, I guess.”

“You guess?!”

“I did do some investigation, and, well… Terushima, is it okay with you if I tell them?”

“Yeah, dude. It’s cool. Just stick to the details though, ‘kay?”

“Sure. Well, it turned out that his dad-”

“Don’t fuckin’ call him my dad.”

“Pardon me, his father wasn’t too thrilled about the fact that Terushima was homosexual-”

“Pan, but whatever. It didn’t matter to him. When I brought a guy home, he lost his shit and...threw me out and sent me to this lame ass rehab camp or whatever. It sucked, and not in the good way. I did get a boyfriend out of it, though. I mean, what better way to find dudes that want to fuck dudes?”

“So he got out, and his mother has been supporting him in secret ever since. Also, I guess I kind of threatened to contact his father and let him drag him back to the camp if he didn’t quit flirting with Daichi.”

“You guess?”

“I did.”

“Is that all?” Oikawa cut in, his nose scrunching up. “Really?”

Iwaizumi looked at him, angling his head to the side curiously. “What do you mean, ‘is that all?’ That’s horrible.”

Oikawa shrugged, absently flicking a speck of dust off of his jeans. “My dad barely spoke to me after he realised I was gay. Or maybe it was when I got booted off the team. I’m not sure. He still doesn’t. It isn’t that unusual.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t awful.”

“Whatever. Teru-kun, I can’t believe you left because of that.”

“ I thought I was just fuckin’ talking to Daichi, and I wasn’t going to hang around and wait for Sugawara to get mad about it! Excuse me for having common sense.”

“At a later date, I also kind of threatened to get him expelled if he didn’t stop,” Sugawara admitted sheepishly. “But I wouldn’t have really planted drugs in his dorm room.”

“Would’ve probably worked,” Oikawa commented offhandedly. “Who’s going to believe a pierced weirdo like him over a perfect angel like Suga-kun? You already look like you do several lines before coming into class.”

“I’m just fuckin’ tired! I’ve never done drugs in my life, douche.”

“You’ve never tried drugs? Really?”

“Yes really, why do you sound so doubtful? Is it because of my appearance? It’s because I have piercings, ain’t it? Noon, tomorrow, outside the college. I’ll fight you.”

“Hm, you’re right,” Oikawa said, examining his nails in boredom. “That threat doesn’t fit your appearance at all.”

“Terushima! You are not fighting Oikawa, no matter how judgmental he is. ” There was a crackling and some muffled shouting on the other end, which Iwaizumi assumed was Daichi dragging Terushima away from the phone forcefully. 

Suga sighed, clear once again. “Sorry about that. You know what he’s like.”

“It’s alright,” Iwaizumi piped up, amused. “We both do.”

“I’m disappointed in you, Suga-kun,” Oikawa deadpanned. “I expected you to say something like you stabbed his little sister or something for looking at Samawura.”

“I...Oikawa, who do you think I am? Yes, I get jealous - because Daichi’s so flawless, I can’t help it at times - but I really don’t think I’d stab somebody for talking to him.”

“Suga-kun, did you think for an instant that I just might’ve been being sarcastic?”

“Oh.”

Oikawa grinned, able to picture Sugawara’s sheepish smile, and his finger hovering over his cheek in embarrassment. 

“Anyway,” Suga said, clearing his throat. “You called me yesterday, right? What was that about? I tried to call you back this morning, but your phone was off?”

Oikawa hesitated, feeling Iwaizumi’s heavy gaze on him. 

“Oh, it was nothing. I just wanted to tell you that I wouldn’t be at practice today.”

“Why weren’t you at practice, actually?”

“I…” Oikawa sighed deeply, running a hand back through his hair. “I got drunk and punched my tv, so my hand wasn’t in the best shape. Iwa-chan wouldn’t let me go, because he’s mean.”

“Oikawa, why were you-oh, lord, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot about the season starting. That’s why you called me, wasn’t it? I told you that you could call me whenever and then I didn’t pick up and-”

“Suga-kun, it’s fine. Really. You can stop with the guilt trip.”

“But-!”

“It’s fine,” Oikawa repeated, a sharper, more forceful edge to his tone. “I’ll see you soon, okay? I need to get rid of the tv now. I’m glad you managed to sort everything out. Bye!”

“Oi-”

Oikawa hung up, tossing his phone carelessly onto the kitchen table. Iwaizumi watched him carefully, trying to judge his mood before he spoke. 

“He shouldn’t have sidelined you like that.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Oikawa muttered, walking over to the fridge. “He has his own life to live, and many friends to take care of. He can’t be running to my aid every time I feel down.”

Oikawa shut the fridge again without taking anything out, his back turned to Iwaizumi and shoulders risen almost up to his ears. Iwaizumi grimaced, well able to guess, spot-on, exactly what Oikawa’s mood was. With a soft sigh, Iwaizumi padded over to Oikawa’s back, reaching out a hand to touch his elbow gently. 

“I’ll be here next time, I promise.”

“I’m just fine. I don’t need you to be here.”

Oikawa’s shoulders tensed up another inch, a hand lifting to grip the front of his hair. 

“You should focus on yourself and your mom. You’ve got enough to worry about as it is.”

Iwaizumi shook his head, but of course Oikawa couldn’t see him. Grasping Oikawa’s elbow a little tighter, he stepped up beside him, tugging on his arm to turn him towards him.

"I don't think you get it. I want to worry about you. I already do."

Oikawa's eyes creased up, his lips cracking open silently. There was a moment where neither of them spoke, and Iwaizumi could only see Oikawa's expression slowly going through an array of emotions, from shock to disbelief, to utter gratitude. Iwaizumi thought it was beautiful, so beautiful, the relief in Oikawa's eyes, the shattered image of nobody truly, actually, caring about him. He was beautiful. Finally, Oikawa shook his head, gaze absently fixing on a spot somewhere on the floor. 

"You're so cheesy, Iwa-chan." 

His hands clasped together, twisted, then unclasped, but didn’t even attempt to trail back through his hair, and Iwaizumi breathed a sigh of relief inwardly. He had hoped to put Oikawa at ease, not make him uncomfortable or nervous. Luckily, it seemed like he had succeeded, at least partly. 

Iwaizumi smiled. “You’re an asshole.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes, shoulders relaxing, and his gaze drifted back up to meet Iwaizumi’s.

“Whatever. More importantly, is that the only insult you have? I’d like to be insulted in some creative ways for once, please, or is that beyond you?”

“How about dumbass?”

“How about fine ass? I think it suits me better.”

Oikawa smirked, eyes bright and teasing, and  _ fuck _ , Iwaizumi wanted to kiss him. 

“I think I’m just going to stick with asshole, asshole,” Iwaizumi said as grumpily as he could manage, striding past Oikawa to head to the hallway. 

“How about gorgeous asshole?” Oikawa pestered him, following along into his bedroom. 

“No. It’s not an insult if you put a good adjective with it.”

“Whoa, I didn’t know you passed middle school Japanese!”

“Shut up and get out,” Iwaizumi told him, grabbing some old clothes out of a box. “I gotta change.”

“Shy, are we?” Oikawa teased, not moving. “You’ve seen me almost naked already, isn’t it fair I get to see you in your boxers, too?”

Iwaizumi glowered at him as he slipped his jacket off his shoulders, folding it away neatly to distract himself from the heat flowing up his neck. “I didn’t exactly have a choice in that, and it’s creepy for you to stand there and watch me change.”

“Tell that to Mattsun and Makki,” Oikawa sighed out, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re on a whole other level of invading privacy.”

Just then, Oikawa’s phone, still on the kitchen table, vibrated and emitted his obnoxious ringtone loud enough for both of them to hear in the bedroom. Heaving a sigh, Oikawa wandered out of the room with an airy, “I’ll be back to see you off,” to Iwaizumi, who was left with a decision. He could change in the time it’d take Oikawa to get his phone and finish up the conversation, or he could...wait, he supposed. 

No, that’d be weird.

Iwaizumi shoved his urge to see Oikawa’s admiring gaze flicker all over his body, sharp and clean, and tugged off his shirt quickly, throwing on another one over his bare chest. The wound from what seemed like so long ago had closed up nicely, but there was no way he’d ever be rid of the scar, pale against his dark skin, completely. He finished changing within a minute, and Oikawa padded into the hallway as soon as he was just sliding into his shoes. 

“Who was it?” Iwaizumi asked. “I didn’t hear you talk to anyone.”

OIkawa’s nose creased up, and he folded his arms over his chest, tilting his face upwards to stare at the ceiling.

“Suga-kun. I didn’t answer.”

“Ah, right. Are you mad at him, then?”

Oikawa sighed, raking a hand back through his hair. 

“I don’t know. Maybe. Do I have a right to be? I’m selfish, but even I know that the world, and people’s lives, don’t revolve around me alone.” Oikawa pulled a face, then masked it over with a smooth smile. “I mean, of course they should, because I’m amazing, but they don’t.”

Iwaizumi opened his mouth, but Oikawa got there first. 

“And your life shouldn’t be any different.”

“But it is,” Iwaizumi countered swiftly, stubbornly, and continued putting on his shoes. 

When he straightened up again, he barely could stop himself from breaking eye contact. Oikawa’s eyes were burning into him, the intensity of his gaze rocketing through Iwaizumi’s limbs, back and forth, back and forth, until he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. 

Oikawa started it, and so, he was the one to end it. 

“When will you be back?”

Iwaizumi glanced away. 

“Around ten or so.”

“Okay.”

Oikawa was silent after that, and Iwaizumi turned around to pick up the key, jiggling it a little in  his palm before inserting it into the lock.

“I’m glad he didn’t do anything.”

“What?”

“Suga-kun. I’m glad he didn’t actually do anything. Acting on jealousy is never a good idea.”

“I suppose you know from experience?” 

Iwaizumi turned his head ever so slightly, so he could see Oikawa over his shoulder, out of the corner of his eye. Both of his hands were buried in his hair. Agitated, Iwaizumi guessed. This was difficult for him.

“Yeah,” Oikawa breathed out, shoulders slowly rising up. “When-”

“Wait,” Iwaizumi interrupted, leaving the key in the lock and spinning around. “Honestly Oikawa, you just look so uncomfortable and uneasy. I don’t want you to force yourself to tell me things.”

Oikawa blinked, mild surprise scrambling up his features. 

“I...don’t think I’m forcing myself? I want to tell - I feel like I can tell you about me, even the bad things. And I want to find out about you too, as weird as that sounds. That’s what friends do, isn’t it? I mean, close friends. I’m uncomfortable because I hate reliving it, but I’ll feel better when you know, I think?” Oikawa finished up, but he looked mildly confused with himself, and, if he was honest, Iwaizumi was too, a little. 

“It is better to get things out in the open,” Iwaizumi agreed, nodding firmly. “Go ahead, then.”

Sighing, Oikawa closed his eyes, fingers twitching around his brunette locks. 

“When I was fifteen, I hit Tobio in our school gym. There was nobody around except for the janitor, and he didn’t see. He was only asking me to show him how to serve toss, Iwa-chan. It wasn’t his fault that I wasn’t blessed with natural ability like him and that I was fucking bitter and jealous over it. He offered to keep it hush for me, and, like the pathetic bitch I am, I accepted. I’ve never told anyone about it, but I regret it, so much.” Oikawa heaved out another sigh, moulding his palms against his closed eyelids, and Iwaizumi could see his hands trembling ever so slightly. 

Iwaizumi shook his head. "That isn't that bad. Yeah, it's shitty, but you were fifteen. Everyone's stupid at fifteen. I once got blackout drunk and ended up in a deserted factory like five miles from where I was. Turns out my friends stole a jeep and rode over there." 

"Well, your friends sound great." 

"They were the type of people who scraped moss off of walls and sold it to twelve year olds as weed." 

Oikawa snorted, his hands dropping down to his hips. "Seriously? What kind of people were you friends with?" 

"The wrong kind, if I'm being honest." Iwaizumi shrugged, rotating back to the door. "I suppose that's why I managed to hold my own in my old neighbourhood. Plenty of experience.”

Oikawa shifted from side to side, not wanting to be left alone in the apartment but unable to ask Iwaizumi to stay. He had gotten completely used to Iwaizumi’s presence around him, and it had become worse to go back to an empty apartment, utterly hollow on the inside. 

“That does make sense,” he admitted as Iwaizumi turned the key in the lock. “And...thanks for listening to me.”

“I kind of turned it into about me though,” Iwaizumi confessed, swinging the door open. “Sorry.”

“Nah,” Oikawa breathed out, soft but sure. “I don’t mind. I told you that I wanted to know about you, didn’t I?”

With a quick step forward, Oikawa wrapped his arms around Iwaizumi’s shoulders, nose brushing against short, dark hair. Iwaizumi’s shoulders tensed up for an instant before sloping downwards again, relaxing against Oikawa’s warm chest. He stopped himself from pressing his lips against the top of Iwaizumi’s head, fearful that it’d be too far. Barely. 

“Yeah. You did, I guess.”

Iwaizumi let out a quiet hum, turning sideways to wind an arm around Oikawa’s upper back. He could feel his blood thrumming in his veins from the closeness, from the way Oikawa’s lithe arms were looped around him so warmly, and he wanted to lean in closer so badly, to rest his head against Oikawa’s neck. He supposed there was nothing stopping him apart from his own lack of confidence in romantic matters. 

Oikawa liked him, Kuroo had told him.

Really?

Kuroo could be fucking with him. And even if he wasn’t, what if he only thought that Oikawa liked him? 

Iwaizumi sighed shallowly, breath whispering over Oikawa’s pale skin. He didn’t have time for this. Any of this. He had to make it to work on time, god  _ damn  _ it.

The instant Iwaizumi’s breath swept over surface of Oikawa's skin, it broke out into what felt like little starbursts, like the tiny, heated bubbles that pop up out of lava. 

"I have to get to work." 

Oikawa's heart was pleading for him to request Iwaizumi to stay, to make the feeling of comfort rest easier in his chest. Oikawa's head told it firmly not to worry. Iwa-chan would come back. His heart reluctantly settled back down, crossing its fingers and hoping his head was right.

"Okay, Iwa-chan!" Oikawa smiled at him as he pulled away, flashing him a two-fingered salute. "Try to have fun without me, okay?" 

"That'll be easy," Iwaizumi snorted, stepping out the doorway and pocketing the key. "See you later." 

He shut the door behind him far easier than Oikawa could've, but, as Oikawa reminded himself, Iwaizumi wasn't endlessly in need of company and thoroughly clingy, yet distant. Oikawa stood in the hallway for a moment, vacantly combing out the side of his hair. He didn’t feel horrible, which surprised Oikawa the most. He’d always figured that, once he told somebody about one of his worst moments, he’d likely be crying and feel so much more terrible afterwards, ashamed under the person’s judging glower. Yet his chest felt lighter somehow, at how easily and steadily Iwaizumi took the information. He didn’t make a big deal about it, and it whittled Oikawa’s conviction that it was a massive failure he shouldn’t ever get past down - somewhat, at least. Not entirely, but Oikawa was still comforted. Iwaizumi didn’t fake anything, and Oikawa hadn’t seen any disgust in his eyes. He’d simply accepted it. 

He should do something for Iwaizumi. He'd spent most of his birthday cleaning up after Oikawa's own mess and bringing him to the hospital, and, in Oikawa's view, that was a birthday entirely wasted. They were going to the pub later, Oikawa knew, but he wanted something more. It wasn't as if going out was anything special or touching. 

He wanted to do something for Iwa-chan that he’d remember.

With a slight smirk, Oikawa spun back around and scooped his phone up off of the kitchen table, swiping straight past the messages from Sugawara. He had an idea.

 

**shit hair:** I am recruiting you

**walking bad hair day:** the fuck do you want

**shit hair:** no need to be so hostile!! 

**walking bad hair day:** yeah there is

**shit hair:** look whatever just hear me out

**walking bad hair day:** no

**shit hair** : its for iwa-chan

**walking bad hair day:** surprise surprise 

are u gonna bombard me w gay thoughts again i have enough of my own thank u very much

**shit hair:** no this is actually productive I stg

**walking bad hair day:** fine hmu then

**shit hair:** so I have an idea which is totally original and not cliche at all but it'll be cute!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

[quite a lengthy and insulting few minutes later. yes i might’ve been too lazy to write it but this chap is over 20k ok im not sorry]

 

**walking bad hair day:** u built that up far too much

its literally just a surprise party no matter how many exclamation marks you put on the end

**shit hair:** shut up he'll love it you'll see

\-----

Iwaizumi heaved out a sigh,  sliding his phone half-out of his pocket to check the time as he hurried into the elevator, punching the button for OIkawa’s floor. When was he supposed to meet the guys at the bar, again? He couldn’t remember, but he could text Kuroo when he was getting ready, and convince Oikawa into helping him rustle up something to eat. Frowning, Iwaizumi tugged down the hem of his shirt, wondering if that was really a good idea. Oikawa hadn’t attempted to cook with him around yet, but, from how Oikawa was talking, he prayed he had a fire extinguisher handy.

The chrome doors opened, and Iwaizumi quickly strode to Oikawa’s front door, taking out the key and almost dropping it when the door burst inwards abruptly.

"Happy birthday, Iwa-chan!"

Iwaizumi was assaulted by Oikawa's outstretched arms latching around his neck before he could react, stumbling back a step before he managed to balance himself. Gaze widening, Iwaizumi scanned all around him, surprise relaxing his features. To say the apartment was sparkling would be an understatement. Oikawa had somehow managed to drape a “Happy Birthday Iwa” banner along the doorway to the kitchen, the “Iwa,” obviously hand-drawn and uneven, but it sent a pleasant glow down Iwaizumi’s body nonetheless. Everyone from practice packed into the hallway, greeting rocketing out at him, and he could see others he knew like Suga, Daichi, Matsukawa and Hanamaki. Even Kenma was there. As he took all of this in, a resounding chorus of “Happy Birthday!” echoed through the air, a little uneven and overlapping, but he could still make out the words.

"Yo, Iwaizumi. We thought you'd prefer this," Kuroo grinned, striding forward to rustle Iwaizumi's short hair fondly. “Personally, I’d prefer the strippers, but if you want to be an old man, I guess I can hold off for a day or two.”

“How’d you get Kenma to come?” Iwaizumi wondered aloud.

“Didn’t have to force him to come. He does like you, mate.”

Pulling away from Iwaizumi, Oikawa beamed at him, a grin which only intensified the grateful glow in Iwaizumi’s chest. “Come on! I want to show you what I got you!”

“You didn’t have to-” Iwaizumi protested, but Oikawa was already gripping his wrist, hauling him into the kitchen. 

As he got dragged down the crowded hall - he estimated that there was about twenty people here, maybe a little less - Oikawa’s hand slid down into his own, and Iwaizumi’s fingers spasmed, wanting to wrap around his soft palm so much. But then Oikawa was letting go - the hallway wasn’t that long - and Iwaizumi was staring at a couple of inconspicuously wrapped gifts. One was very similarly shaped to a guitar, a couple of boxes, and then a paper - covered ball that Iwaizumi assumed was Kuroo’s idea of a joke. Knowing Kuroo, it was probably a soccer ball. Because Iwaizumi liked volleyball.

Yeah, Iwaizumi didn’t find it very amusing either. 

“Can I open them later?” Iwaizumi asked faintly, missing the comfort of Oikawa’s fingers around his wrist already. He was never a fan of being the complete centre of attention, especially with this many people around, even if he knew them all. 

Kuroo rolled his eyes. “You just don’t want to have to fake a pleased reaction, do you?”

“You won’t have to with my gift,” Oikawa announced proudly. “It’s the best one there.”

“He’s going to like mine more,” Kuroo declared over Oikawa, leering at him. 

“No way! He’s going to love mine ten times more than yours,” Oikawa shot back, placing his hands on his hips and glowering a grinning Kuroo down. “I put way more thought into it than you, asswipe.”

“Oh, going into creative and original insults, are we now? I haven’t heard that one before, dickhole.”

“As if you could come up with any original insults near my level, bitchbrush.”

“Was that a dig at my hair? I think that was a dig at my hair. And from the one whose hair looks like a shit-smear across his scalp, too.”

“That shit smear is prettier than you entire face, fuckcat.”

“Did you just insult Nekoma’s mascot? Jesus, Iwaizumi, hold me back, I’m going to fucking deck him, right here and now.”

“Come on then, furry. Prepare to get wrecked.”

“Mate, you don’t know who you’re fucking with.”

“Oh, I do. I’ve fucked with a lot worse, believe me. You couldn’t scratch me if you tried, jerk.”

Iwaizumi rubbed his temples, receiving more than a few pitying looks. 

“Guys, can we please leave both the bickering and presents until later? I’m tired.”

“A bit of alcohol will fix that!”

“Oikawa, please.”

“Someone get Iwaizumi a beer,” Kuroo called out, and less than ten seconds later, he was thrusting a cool metal can into his palm. “Now, let’s party, shall we? Try to enjoy yourself, Iwaizumi, like the you wild party animal you are.”

Iwaizumi flipped him off, but Kuroo’s grin only grew wider, and he slung an arm around Iwaizumi’s neck, popping open the can of beer for him.

“Stop being so grumpy and enjoy yourself for once, ‘kay?”

“I do enjoy myself.”

“Iwaizumi, think about that sentence and rephrase it, please.”

“Whatever,” Iwaizumi said, glancing around him. “Where’d Oikawa go?”

Kuroo clucked his tongue, prodding the side of Iwaizumi’s head. “Mate, turn off that gay side of your brain for one evening and relax. You don’t have to look after that dipshit constantly.” 

“I know I don’t have to,” Iwaizumi grumbled. “I can’t help worrying that he’s going to drink too much, though.”

Kuroo furrowed his brow. “Why? He’ll just get drunk and pass out on the floor, like  what the rest of us are planning on doing anyway. There’s only beer here too. It’s hard to get completely wasted on it unless you have a low ass tolerance. And I mean low as fuck.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Iwaizumi shook his concerns away - or tried to, by the memory of himself, pouring the last bottle of Oikawa’s vodka down the sink, this morning, before he’d woken up. There was no way he’d leave for work and leave Oikawa in the house with alcohol. Although sadly, apart from checking up on him every few hours, he couldn’t stop Oikawa just from simply walking down to the shop and buying more. He was beyond relieved when he entered the apartment and Oikawa was with people and completely sober. 

“See? It’ll be fine, stop being such a worrywart for one night,” Kuroo encouraged, squeezing Iwaizumi’s shoulders. 

"Alright, alright. You can stop bugging me now," Iwaizumi growled, shrugging off Kuroo's arm. 

"Whoo!" Kuroo threw his arms up above his head, and Iwaizumi felt a few drops of beer spray into his hair. "Kenma, where are you? Dance with me!" 

Iwaizumi shook his head and moved off, joining Kyoutani and Yahaba’s conversation with a polite nod. 

Maybe Kuroo was right, and he should unwind for one night.

\----

Hanamaki and Matsukawa were in the corner, observing the bob of people up and down as music swept over the apartment - Iwaizumi, to Oikawa and Kuroo’s disappointment, had insisted that it had to be low, he had neighbours, after all. They were grinning, which was never a good sign, and they were never up to anything good, ever. Oikawa turned away slightly from Sugawara, Terushima and Daichi to eye them up suspiciously, to which they only grinned wider and waved innocently. 

“I think Oiks thinks we’re up to something,” Mastukawa whispered, leaning against Hanamaki’s shoulder.

Hanamaki looked at him. “Aren’t we?”

“I dunno. Are we?”

“I’m sure we are.”

“What, then?”

“Dunno yet.” 

“Fantastically informative as always, Takahiro.” 

“Fine then. We’ll come up with something to do.”

“We were going to ask Sugawara what happened, right?”

“By ‘ask’, you meant pester the hell out of, right?”

“Obviously.”

“But then he told us himself.”

“So we have nothing to do.”

Someone cleared their throat beside them, and they both looked blankly at the moderately tall, messy-haired, ex-captain of Nekoma. 

“Gentlemen, I have a proposal.”

“Sorry, but we’re already engaged,” Makki told him, gesturing to Mattsun, who nodded seriously. “There’s no point in proposing to either of us.”

Kuroo blinked, then a slow grin spread over his face. “You two are my kind of guys.”

“I told you, we’re deeply committed to each other. Doesn’t matter if we’re your type or not.”

“I meant like friends. Bro material. Homies. ”

“I thought you were Japanese, not black.”

Kuroo gave Issei a half-lidded, unimpressed look. “And Akaashi complains about me and Bokuto being bad.”

“Thank you. We do pride ourselves on being annoying.”

“As in, our company is completely intolerable for long periods of time.”

“I just might be starting to pick up on that fact,” Kuroo drawled out. "But anyway, you two are friends with that asshole, right?"

"You're going to need to be more specific. We're friends with many assholes."

"Especially as we're assholes ourselves."

"The gay asshole who's talking to Mr. Sparkly and Mr. Steel Thighs over there," Kuroo said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. 

Oikawa caught the movement and narrowed his eyes further, to which the duo waved back cheerfully.

"I suppose the relationship between us could be described as friendship, yes," Mattsun confirmed.

"More like mutual annoyance," Makki inputted to clarify.

"Yeah, yeah, but what about Iwaizumi?"

"Arms..." Matsukawa said dreamily. "Like two concrete pillars that hold up the sky."

"Wow babe, poetic. Why don't you write anything romantic and poetic for me?"

"Takahiro the ultimate bae you fuck good your dick is big please stay."

"A masterpiece." Makki brushed away a fabricated tear, sniffling quietly.

"You two don't have many friends, do you?" Kuroo asked straight out, 

"We have loads!"

"Yeah! Loads! More than you, for sure."

"Mate, my friends could beat your asses."

"Beat our asses?"

"Sorry, not into that sort of stuff."

"Look, mate, can I get to the point already?"

"Shall we permit it?"

"Maybe. It'll have to go up to the court of appeal."

"Go ahead, I guess."

"Finally," Kuroo sighed out.

"So it's about getting Oikawa and Iwaizumi together, right?" Matsukawa said before Kuroo could get another word out.

"Yes. Jesus Christ, yes. You get it."

"We got it from the start."

"You're just fun to mess with."

"I am never going to complain about Lev again," Kuroo breathed out, massaging his closed eyelids. "Okay, has Oikawa talked to you about him?"

"Eh, not really. He usually discusses shit like that with mr sparkly."

"He likes Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi likes him. All we gotta do is give them a gentle push."

"Subtle?"

"Yeah."

"Discreet?"

"Preferably."

"Got it."

"We can do subtle and discreet."

Under Kuroo’s skeptical stare, Matsukawa yanked out his phone and held it up, placing it on speakerphone. Oikawa frowned down at his vibrating pocket, picking it up dubiously and answering it even more dubiously as he eyed up Mattsun. "Mattsun? You're literally five feet away. Why are you calling me?"

"Fucking kiss Iwaizumi."

Oikawa nearly choked on his spit, eyes widening as spluttered out a response.

“What?! Where is this coming from?”

“There’s only so many ways you can make love to your hand, Oikawa. Get a bae already. Preferably Iwaizumi.”

“How the fuck is that subtle?” Kuroo hissed, rapidly snatching Matsukawa’s phone right out of his hands and hanging up on Oikawa, who glared accusingly at them, face red. “You two are worse than Bokuto.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“I think it’s a compliment.”

“Thanks.”

“Wasn’t a compliment, but whatever.” Kuroo rolled his eyes, slouching to the side. “I’m starting to think I should’ve gone to Sugawara instead to sort this out.”

“I thought you said we were your sort of guys.”

“We’re offended. Deeply.”

“I’m going to get more beer,” Kuroo said bluntly. “I need to be drunker to deal with you two.”

“Well, congratulations Takahiro, you managed to drive off another potential friend.”

“Oh, trust me, that was all you. I couldn’t take all the credit.”

“This is what I love about you, babe. You’re so generous to me.”

“Ta, I know.”

\----

Kuroo never came back, and, if they were honest, neither of them cared. 

“So I’ve been thinking.”

Mattsun turned to Makki, eyebrow rising. “You only say that when you’re about to fuck some shit up.”

“Yep. You in?”

“Hell yes.”

“So, Iwaizumi.”

“Iwaizumi, yes, I do know of him. Short-ish, looks grumpy all the time, lowkey soft and caring, very gay?”

“That’s the one. And Oikawa.”

“Tall-ish, jerky personality, great hair? Also incredibly salty?”

“Exactly. The one we’ve been friends with since first year of high school.”

“I am aware of that, yes.”

“Good. Now Issei, think. If you put them together, what do you get?”

“An abomination of a relationship that strangely works?”

“No. You get happiness. More precisely, Oikawa’s happiness.”

“What about Iwaizumi?”

“He’s just lonely. Being with Oikawa will fix that, too.”

“Lonely?”

“Oikawa filled me in on his background. He’s lost almost his entire family, Issei. He must be lonely.”

“Fair point,” Matsukawa concluded. “So what do you suggest we do about this? You’re basically stealing Kuroo’s idea, but hey, who cares? We’re helping him out. In a way.”

“We’re going to annoy both of them into confessing to each other. What else?”

“We could do what we tried with Kyoutani and Yahaba.”

“They only got together in college. That didn’t work.”

“I really did think it was a foolproof plan, though.”

“How was writing ‘Kyoutani luvs Yahaba’ all over his notebooks foolproof, in any way?”

“I mean, it got their attention, didn’t it?”

“It made them avoid each other for weeks.”

“Focus on the positives, babe, the positives.”

Hanamaki shoved his hand down the side of Matsukawa’s jeans, warming it up splendidly well as he scanned around for one of their chosen victims. 

“Iwaizumi’s over there with the model and the loud af one,” Matsukawa pointed to where Iwaizumi, Akaashi and Bokuto were gathered  at the side of the table, Bokuto recounting a story and enthusiastically clapping Akaashi on the back vigorously. 

“Isn’t that the duo from like Furry-danny or something?” Makki frowned, trying to sound out the name. 

“Fukurodani. You weren’t even close.”

“I’m always close when I’m with you.”

“Later, babe, later. Let’s focus on bothering Iwaizumi now.”

“Are we doing this because we seriously want them to get together or is this just an excuse to irritate them?”

Matsukawa pulled a face, considering the question. “Bit of both, I think.”

“Great, now I can justify all the annoying shit I’m about to drop on them.”

“We’re doing it for a good cause.”

“Our entertainment?”

“No. For their happiness, remember? You gave a whole speech about them needing each other.”

“I said two sentences about it.”

“Long enough. There has been speeches two sentences long. Take Martin Luther King’s one. It was only one line.”

“You’re an imbecile.”

“Nah, nah, I know it was five. Don’t get your boxers in a twist.”

Makki grinned and leaned over to speak into Matsukawa’s ear. He didn’t even bother to lower his voice.

“Interesting you should say that, because I’m not wearing any.”

“Stop making me horny. We can bang in Oikawa’s bathroom later.”

“Lookin’ forward to doing the dong dance with you, Issei.”

“Same, babe. Now, where were we?”

“I think we were about to bother the hell out of Iwaizumi.”

“Nice.”

\---

The instant Iwaizumi saw Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s identical, sly grins, he knew he was doomed. 

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting you two,” Hanamaki started off, looking at Bokuto and Akaashi. “Iwaizumi, care to introduce us?”

Iwaizumi stared flatly at them, unimpressed. He wasn’t sure why they were over here but he was certain that it wasn’t a good reason.

“No.”

“Rude, Iwaizumi. That hurt.”

“I’m Akaashi, and this is Bokuto-san,” Akaashi told them, outstretching his hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” 

“I’m Bokuto!” Bokuto announced, pointing his thumb at himself. 

“I did tell them that, Bokuto-san.”

“Yeah, the handsome one told us already.”

Bokuto’s expression darkened slightly.

“Those two are together,” Iwaizumi said quickly.

Bokuto’s face cleared up almost instantly. 

“He is handsome, isn’t he? He’s the best-looking guy here! Maybe even the world!” Bokuto spread out his hands to emphasise the point.

Hanamaki looked pointedly at Iwaizumi. “Yeah, you never told us you had hot friends.”

“They’re all taken.”

“Your point? I need some decent eye candy every now and then, especially from looking at this guy all the time.”

“You’re not so easy on the eyes yourself, sugar.”

“You’re like sandpaper on my eyes.”

At this point, Akaashi turned to Iwaizumi, a genuinely concerned expression on his face.

“Are they like Kuroo and Bokuto?”

Bokuto, on the other hand, was listening attentively to their conversation, somehow managing to stay quiet to mentally take down notes. 

“Basically, only with more gross PDA,” Iwaizumi answered grimly.

“Worse, in other words,” Akaashi summarised.

“Yeah. Naturally, they’re Oikawa’s friends.”

“That does make a lot of sense.” 

“Oi, Iwaizumi, come over here. We want to discuss something with you.”

“Yeah, I want my ear pierced and we can’t agree on which one is the gay one,” Hanamaki slipped in. “You’re the tiebreak, Iwaizumi. And we have to discuss it over there. For reasons.”

“It’s the left,” Akaashi supplied. 

“Nice, whatever, gotta get that one done then, anyway we still need Iwaizumi we’ll give him back in a few minutes,” Hanamaki garbled on, Matsukawa grabbing the front of Iwaizumi’s shirt and hauling him very forcefully indeed away from the very confused couple. 

“Stop resisting. I swear, it’s like you don’t want to talk to us.”

“I really don’t,” Iwaizumi replied, digging his heels into the ground, causing them to stop entirely. 

Hanamaki rounded to his back and shoved at him - or attempted to -  simply making Iwaizumi stubbornly ground himself further. 

“What do you two want with me?”

“Just to talk,” Matsukawa insisted as he linked one of his arms through Iwaizumi’s, lugging him into Oikawa’s bedroom with the help of Hanamaki. They dumped him roughly onto the bed, and plopped down on either side of him, still with arms linked so he couldn’t escape. Easily, in any case. 

“If you’re about to suggest a threesome, I swear to fuck-”

“Do you not trust us?” Hanamaki placed a hand over his heart, acting wounded. 

“I barely know you, and I already know never to trust either of you.”

“Harsh, but moving on,” Matsukawa intervened. “Sadly, no threesome, and we’re here about Oikawa.”

Iwaizumi’s hands stilled, his entire body freezing, as if unwilling to give a single detail about his mood away. However, the very action of not wanting to betray anything with his body language gave the duo the prompting that they really didn’t need. 

“You like each other, yeah?”

“It’s none of your business,” Iwaizumi responded flatly.

“Kuroo told us, so obviously he wants us to help you two come to terms with the fact you want to suck each other’s dicks.”

“Plus,” Matsukawa added, nudging Iwaizumi in the ribs. “Oiks is our friend. A good friend. He puts up with our shit, and he puts up with ours. We need to vet you before we allow you anywhere near his body.”

“I’m not going anywhere near his body.”

“We can tell when you’re lying, Iwa-chan~,” Matsukawa sang out, doing an approximation of Oikawa’s voice that seemed to grate through Iwaizumi’s ears.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, so you only tolerate it when Oiks calls you that?” Hanamaki pressed. Literally. His shoulder squeezed in on Iwaizumi’s, who grimaced.

“No. I don’t want more people calling me that. One is annoying enough.”

Hanamaki, the good friend he was, jumped in immediately to defend Oikawa.

“But he’s hot.”

“Hot and annoying,” Matsukawa pointed out, and rightly so.

“Still hot.”

Iwaizumi dragged both his palms down his face with a groan, dropping his elbows onto his knees, bent over. 

“Please, can we just get this conversation over with?”

“Aw, where’s the fun in that?” Hanamaki complained, but let out a sigh. “Fine. For a few minutes, we’ll be partly sane. Issei, you cool with that?”

“Yeah. I suppose this requires us not irritating Iwaizumi to the point of punching us in the face.”

“Mm, I’d rather not have Iwaizumi punch me in my face.”

“Oiks would probably pay for him to punch him in the face.”

“Kinky.”

“I thought you said you were being sane,” Iwaizumi said, exasperated. 

“Oh, shit.”

“Kind of forgot.”

Iwaizumi closed his eyes, wishing Oikawa had less friends which, once talked to, felt like he was being driven mad at a dangerously fast pace. 

“Fine. I like Oikawa, alright? Can you let me go now?”

“Hey, it actually worked!”

Matsukawa leaned across Iwaizumi to Hanamaki and they high-fived in front of Iwaizumi’s chest, exchanging grins. 

“What now?” Hanamaki asked.

Matsukawa shrugged. “I dunno. This was your idea.”

“In that case, I think I’ll just..” Iwaizumi began to rise up from the bed, but the duo pulled him back down. 

“Whoa, whoa, we aren’t finished with you yet. I told you we had to vet you, didn’t I?”

“Ugh,” Iwaizumi groaned. “Fine, what do you want to know?”

Glancing sideways at Hanamaki, Iwaizumi’s expression turned to confusion, noting his worried features and anxious lip-licking. 

“What?”

Matsukawa was the first to answer him.

“I’m sure you know that Oiks hasn’t got the best mental state. We’re kind of terrible at looking after him, and we can’t get him to go to a counsellor, or stop drinking so much, but we…” Matsukawa grimaced, twirling a strand of curly hair around his middle finger awkwardly. “We want to make sure he doesn’t get hurt any more. I don’t think he could handle another setback, at least not without recovering from his damaged pride first. And that’s taking him years.”

Iwaizumi blinked, not expecting that from Matsukawa, of all people. Iwaizumi's opinion of the two suddenly changed drastically. 

"And he's never really dated anyone for more than a few months, either. He's terrified of getting attached." Hanamaki twirled his thumbs around each other, looking down into his lap. "He seems to actually like you, which is really weird. Like, really weird for him. Practically unheard of.  I’ve never seen him smile normally so often." 

"When he was drunk, and he saw you, he latched onto you, and I don't think he's ever done that to anyone. Not that I've seen, anyway."

"Issei, do you think he's getting over his fear of new attachments?" 

"He was the one in the first place that offered friendship to me," Iwaizumi inputted, angling his head to the side as he frowned. Something didn’t add up, or click in his head, or  _ something _ . There was something he couldn’t quite work out yet. "Are you sure he has a commitment phobia or whatever?" 

"We think so. Why else would he always dump the person he's dating?" 

“I mean, he’s always a mess afterwards, more than usual, but he still does it.”

“Dumps them, you mean?”

“Yep. Don’t get it, really. Most of the people he dated he didn’t even like.”

"He always cries,” Hanamaki said quietly. “Says he feels awful and disgusting for doing that, but he didn't want to get any closer to them." 

"Maybe it's because he doesn't want to open up to anyone?" Iwaizumi suggested. "He's hinted before that he doesn't really tell people much about himself." 

"He does tend to dodge around serious questions,"  Hanamaki admitted lowly. "Claims he's fine and all that bullshit." 

"Yeah. Maybe he's afraid of people leaving once they know him. Properly, I mean," Iwaizumi guessed. 

"It would explain why he likes you so much. You've seen him drunk out of his mind, and how...messy that gets, and stayed," Matsukawa theorised, sighing deeply. “We’re only telling you all this because we like you, and Oikawa genuinely likes you, got it? We don’t go around shoving Oikawa’s personal shit down strangers’ throats.”

Iwaizumi nodded seriously, one hand ringing the back of his neck and his palm coming away damp. He was sweating. “I understand. So, you want me to..?”

He left the end of the question hanging, allowing a blank for the two of them to fill in. 

“Be gentle with him, I guess,” Hanamaki breathed out, leaning into Iwaizumi’s side. 

“Yeah,” Matsukawa agreed. “Since you’re our adopted son now, you have to do what we tell you to.”

“Ooh, so the adoption papers went through?”

“Yup. Iwaizumi’s officially our dear adopted son.”

“Oh! Dearie, that’s such wonderful news!” Hanamaki snatched up Iwaizumi’s hand, who scowled threateningly at him, and received a doey-eyed grin in response. “We finally have someone to keep our other son, Oikawa, company!”

“Isn’t that incest?” Iwaizumi asked, yanking his hand free of Hanamaki’s loving grip. 

“Not if you’re adopted,” he answered, more cheerfully than necessary. “Issei, I think we’re done here.”

“Me too. Wanna go do that thing we mentioned earlier?”

“Hell yes. One thing, though.”

“What?”

“What was it again?”

“Sex, babe.”

“Alright, I’m out,” Iwaizumi declared, rising and shoving the two away from him. “You two go and do...whatever. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Remember, it’s not incest if you’re adopted,” Matsukawa called after him with an entirely straight face. Then Takahiro grabbed his face and started making out with him, and Iwaizumi made himself scarce very rapidly indeed. 

“Here?” Matsukawa asked breathlessly, lying back on Oikawa’s bed and dragging Hanamaki down on top of him. 

Hanamaki tilted his head to the side, then dipped it downwards, working his lips across Matsukawa’s jawline slowly, teasingly. Matsukawa’s fingers gripped Hanamaki’s hips closely, eyes drifting shut contentedly. 

“Wait.”

Matsukawa’s eyes opened again as a frown passed over his features. 

“What is it?”

“I have a better idea.”

\--

Once back outside - well, outside Oikawa’s bedroom, Iwaizumi tried to seek out Oikawa, but was thwarted before he could catch a glimpse of the familiar, flawless hair above the crowd. 

“Iwaizumi, get your ass over here!”

Tanaka didn’t even give him an opportunity to respond before he was shoving at his back, steering him forcefully through the crowd.

“Where were you, man? We were looking for you everywhere! Akaashi said that the unbalanced eyebrow crew dragged you off somewhere, what happened?”

“Uh..” came out of Iwaizumi’s mouth as he was hustled into the kitchen, where Yuji, Sugawara, Daichi and Oikawa were waiting, a smile hanging crooked on Oikawa’s lips that Iwaizumi really didn’t like the look of.

“So,” Oikawa declared, spreading his hands open dangerously. “In the interest of science and the study of biceps, Suga-kun and I have decided to set up this little match between two established arm wrestling champions. Samawura has agreed, and Iwa-chan already asked him back in the hospital, so he has no choice in the matter. Everyone, are we ready to begin?”

“Table, check!” Yuji called out, slamming a palm down loudly on the table, all the food shoved off to one side, plates piled on top of each other. 

“Arm, check!” Tanaka grabbed Iwaizumi’s upper arm and dragged him over to the table, where Daichi was seated on the opposite side, Sugawara resting his elbows on the table beside him. He offered Iwaizumi a mildly sympathetic smile before placing his elbow on the table firmly. 

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah, yeah. One second,” Iwaizumi said, and he quickly folded back his shirt sleeves as far as possible up his arm, sadly only exposing his forearm. Iwaizumi scowled, disappointed. It was a tradition of his to roll up his shirt sleeves to sit around his upper arm, almost resting on the shoulder.

“Oh, too bad,” Yuji drawled, and smirked. “Why don’t you take your shirt off entirely?”

“Great idea!” Sugawara chirped. “Daichi, you should do that too.”

Oikawa clapped his hands together in excitement, biting his lower lip. “Ooh, I’m definitely for that!”

Tanaka looked straight at the wall, as if into a camera.

“I’m the only straight one here.”

“Well, if you’re straight, why are you here?” Oikawa accused haughtily, placing a hand on his slanted hips. 

“It mightn’t have entered into your gay mind Oikawa, but there are people who enjoy a good ol’ competition of manliness without staring at muscles, damn it. And I’m one of them.”

“Psh,” Oikawa dismissed him with a flick of his wrist. “Nobody in this apartment is fully straight. You should hit up Ennoshita, he also claims to be straight, right? It’ll be like two minuses. Two straight men should cancel each other out.”

Tanaka looked at Iwaizumi and pointed at Oikawa in disbelief. “Is this guy for real? How are you two even friends? Like, man, he’s even more ridiculous than his serve. I don’t get it.”

“That’s because you’re as dumb as Iwa-chan,” Oikawa huffed, blowing air out of his nose in offence. 

“Whatever, can we just get on with this?” Iwaizumi asked, glancing up at Oikawa, who tossed his fringe to the side with a dramatic sigh. Iwaizumi felt his default frown soften on his features, and quickly put his scowl back into place. He couldn’t afford to admire Oikawa when his pride was on the line.

“If you insist, Iwa-chan. We’re continuing this later, baldy,” Oikawa shot over at Tanaka, who tilted his face back and glowered at Oikawa.

“You wanna go, pretty boy?”

Daichi heaved a sigh. “Oikawa, isn’t this the second time today someone’s threatened to fight you?”

“No! It isn’t my fault if idiots are flocking to me today.”

Iwaizumi stood up and grabbed Oikawa by the shirt, hissing, “Stop starting shit and let us get on with it, alright, asshole?”

Oikawa smirked, his face only a few inches from Iwaizumi’s, so Iwaizumi rapidly let go before his body began to react against his will to Oikawa’s gorgeous light hazel eyes and perfectly shaped lips which would fit so well against Iwaizumi’s and shit he’d already forgotten why he was pissed at Oikawa in the first place. He sat down quickly, thumping his elbow down on the table before his face could heat up too much. 

“Let’s go.”

He could feel every gaze on him, putting two and two together much too quickly for his liking. Sugawara winked across at him as he thudded Daichi supportively on the back, letting him know that he knew exactly how whipped he really was. 

Iwaizumi’s face heated up against all of his efforts as Daichi placed his palm in his, a tiny smirk on his lips also. 

“Ready, Iwaizumi?”

“Always,” Iwaizumi responded, and then Sugawara began the countdown.

Daichi's palm was rough and firm against his own, and Iwaizumi allowed his gaze to scan down his wrist and up his arm, tough and laced with muscle. Iwaizumi's blood spiked with excitement. This would be a challenge, and he loved those. The more the odds were stacked against him the better - after all, it always made it more satisfying if he won.

"Go!"

The force on Iwaizumi's hand was brutal and instant - Daichi obviously had excellent reflexes, and Iwaizumi's hand was jerked back a few inches before he guided it back to the middle with a low grunt. He narrowed his focus, glaring intensely at Daichi as he slowly tuned everything else around them out. Daichi, an expression of strained respect on his face, stared back just as steadily, although a tad less aggressive. Iwaizumi's hand inched forward, the burn in his shoulder growing loud and angry. He had to finish this off soon if he had any chance of winning.

There was a shift behind Iwaizumi, one he was aware of, which was really, really bad. He thought he'd transferred all of his concentration to the match, but when Oikawa moved to the side of the table, Iwaizumi was very aware of it. Oikawa. Of course it was.

Gritting his teeth, Iwaizumi tried to ignore his presence and pushed harder. Daichi's eyes widened just slightly as he gave up some ground, but then Sugawara's hand was on his back, his voice in his ear, and Iwaizumi's hand was forced backwards again. Iwaizumi wanted to protest that that wasn't fair, that your boyfriend couldn't whisper god-knows-what in your ear when the match had started.

Oikawa began to move yet again, and Iwaizumi couldn't help himself.

"Stop moving!" he snapped out loud, and Oikawa started slightly, creasing up his nose.

"You're so rude," he complained, blinking somewhat haughtily. "Maybe I'll start cheering for dear old Sawamura instead."

"I. Don't. Care," Iwaizumi gritted out, beads of sweat forming at his hairline. "Just shut up and stay still."

"My, my," Sugawara said softly. "Iwaizumi sure has a strange way of showing affection, doesn't he?"

Sudden embarrassment flowed through Iwaizumi, along with mortification. There was no way Oikawa hadn't heard that, and surely he'd know that Iwaizumi liked him.

"Yeah," Oikawa agreed flatly, boredly examining his nails. "He really does."

Tanaka and Yuji exchanged a look and shook their heads, Sugawara quietly facepalming beside Daichi. Iwaizumi tried to put his absolute terror aside and focus on the match. His arm was getting fucking tired - this was undoubtedly the longest match he'd ever been part of.

However, Oikawa moved yet again - just a subtle shift of weight, his slender hips angling gracefully to the side.

Iwaizumi made the mistake of glancing up from their straining palms. His gaze caught on Oikawa's hands first, nimble, lengthy fingers interlaced with delight, and from there up, it just became worse for Iwaizumi.Oikawa was definitely no longer uninterested in the competition. His smile was sparkling brighter than Iwaizumi had ever seen it, his normally pale cheeks the colour of a rich sunset, nose slightly scrunched up in anticipation, and his eyes... Iwaizumi hadn't seen anything that compared to how seeing Oikawa's genuine happiness shine out through his light hazel irises made him feel. Light-headed and breathless, as if he could go anywhere, do anything, as long as Oikawa was happy.

Pure, undiluted enjoyment was spread all over his face, and the brief thought, he's never looked so beautiful before, flashed quickly through Iwaizumi's mind.

Their eyes locked.

His concentration shattered.

The back of Iwaizumi's hand was on the table before he knew it, and his attention was jarred rudely back to reality. Oikawa's disappointed whine of, "Iwa-chan! I thought you had it!" was lost on Iwaizumi's ears, who stared at his hand blankly. Fucking Oikawa, distracting him by existing.

Yuji let out a low howl of dismay, arms wrapped around the top of Tanaka’s bald head. “Oikawa, this is all your fault!”

“How is it my fault?! I was rooting for Iwa-chan!”

Sugawara let out a soft chuckle, wondering how Oikawa apparently hadn't noticed how damn smitten Iwaizumi was for him. It was glaringly obvious to everyone here, even Tanaka and Yuji, that Iwaizumi was completely gone. Sugawara wasn't quite sure how, as Iwaizumi actually knew Oikawa and wasn't just worshipping his face from afar, but he wasn't going to condone it, oh no, not at all. He liked Iwaizumi, and so did Oikawa.

Daichi leaned across the table at him, over Tanaka and Yuji's loud lamenting about how Daichi would always be the ultimate arm champ. 

"I could've won sooner, but I wouldn't have liked to interrupt your admiring session."

Iwaizumi felt his face heat up annoyingly rapidly, and he shook his head stubbornly. "It wasn't an admiring session. I want a rematch."

"This time with Oikawa out of the room, maybe?" Sugawara suggested devilishly, quietly leaning over Daichi's shoulder to wink at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi began to open his mouth to protest, but Oikawa bounded over, bending over to grab Iwaizumi's shoulders dramatically. 

"How could you lose, Iwa-chan?! I placed all my faith in you, and you threw it away like that!"

"I'm getting a rematch, so calm down, for fuck's sake." Iwaizumi pried Oikawa's fingers off his shoulders with a sigh, glancing over at Daichi hopefully. "Best of three." 

Daichi's eyes glinted. 

“I have a better idea. How about you arm wrestle Sugawara instead? If you can beat him, I’ll admit defeat.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes narrowed. 

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

He threw a glance at Sugawara, who was smiling innocently, but had his hands folded behind his back. Iwaizumi couldn’t judge his strength by looks alone. Iwaizumi scowled and turned back to Daichi, the sense that he was being played rising up in his chest. He hated that feeling.Hot breath blasted against his ear, and Iwaizumi almost lurched away in surprise before realising it was just Oikawa.

“Iwa-chan, be careful,” he hissed, much too loudly for Iwaizumi’s liking. “Suga-kun’s crazy strong. I once tried to take a sweet bar off of him and I couldn’t make any progress at all, even when I recruited Mattsun to help me.”

“This is a little different,” Iwaizumi hissed back.

“No, it isn’t!”

Sighing, Iwaizumi pushed Oikawa away, ignoring the heat fast crawling across his neck, and gave his answer.

“No. I agreed to go up against you, nobody else.”

“You’re smarter than you look,” Sugawara smiled fondly at him.

“Don’t you start with that too,” Iwaizumi grumbled. “I don’t look thick.”

“Yes you do,” Oikawa swooped in immediately. 

He smiled amiably when Iwaizumi glowered darkly at him.

“I’m going to punch you.”

“No you’re not.”

“I will.”

“You won’t.”

“Watch me.”

“You won’t.”

“Fuck you.”

Yuji blinked. “Wow, this is a whole new level of gay.”

Iwaizumi and Oikawa turned in tandem to glare daggers at him, and he held up his palms in surrender. 

“Whoa, whoa. I was just describing out loud what I saw. Chill.”

“Anyway,” Sugawara interrupted smoothly, sweeping in between Yuji and the denial duo. “Shall we decide a winner?”

“It’s cool,” Iwaizumi told him, and stuck his hand out to Daichi. “Your win.”

Daichi raised an eyebrow as he took Iwaizumi’s hand slowly, sealing the agreement. “Are you sure you don’t want a fairer rematch? It was fairly clear that you were distracted.”

Iwaizumi flushed, dropping the handshake and rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I wasn’t distracted. You won, fair and square.”

Daichi’s other eyebrow rose up to join its counterpart, gaze drifting over to Oikawa, standing just behind Iwaizumi and telling off Yuji for something or other. “Are you certain? Oikawa sure was...moving around a lot.”

His deep, creased eyes shimmered in knowing, and Iwaizumi’s face transitioned into a lovely dark shade of red. 

“It’s alright,” he mumbled, glancing away and tugging down his folded-up sleeves self-consciously. “I probably wouldn’t have won anyway.”

“For what it’s worth, your strength is admirable,” Daichi mentioned, offering Iwaizumi a sympathetic smile. “And I know what you’re going through. Don’t be afraid to take a risk, alright? It often pays off.”

“Ah...thanks,” Iwaizumi tripped over his words awkwardly, scratching his head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Daichi smiled warmly at him, and then Sugawara’s fingers were ghosting across his shoulders, thankfully indicating that the conversation needed to be finishing up. 

“We’d better be going soon,” Suga told Iwaizumi, Oikawa stepping up beside him and completely ignoring Yuji’s response. “We both have to get up early tomorrow. Daichi’s parents are coming to visit and we’d like to give them a tour of the area without being exhausted.”

Iwaizumi nodded in understanding as Oikawa rolled his eyes. “You both are so responsible it’s making me sick. I hope you both have a horrible time.”

Iwaizumi jabbed him in the side, hard, hissing, “Be polite,” underneath his breath. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Sugawara insisted, waving a hand airily around. “We’re well used to our dear Oikawa’s ways of wishing us well.”

“I am not-!”

Iwaizumi clapped a hand over Oikawa’s mouth before he could object, offering the two a stiff smile, more like a grimace. 

“You guys have fun. We’ll see you around.”

“Of course. See you!” Sugawara waved, Daichi following him out of the room with a friendly nod. 

“It was a good match, Iwaizumi. I’d like to do it again sometime.”

“I agree,” Iwaizumi called back to him, then he felt something wet and slimey touch his palm and he whipped his hand away from Oikawa’s mouth, his face writhing in disgust. “Did you lick me?!”

“It’s your punishment,” Oikawa sniffed. “For silencing me.”

“Well, you were being fucking rude,” Iwaizumi told him starkly, wiping his hand on his jeans. 

“Whatever, they’re used to it. Wanna go and get some shrimp? I’m starving.”

“I have no idea where all the food you eat goes, but sure.”

\-----

Meanwhile, Kindaichi and Kunimi were having a conversation of quite the different sort, until Iwaizumi and Oikawa passed by.  Oikawa rested a hand on Kindaichi's shoulder, smiling suggestively at him. "You know what, Kin-kun? I like having you here! It makes me feel more at ease when I see how hopelessly awkward you are!”

Kindaichi flushed, unsure of what to say.

"Thanks, I guess?"

"Oikawa, leave him alone,” Iwaizumi growled and caught him by the collar of his fancy ass branded shirt and dragged him away with a short apology to Kindaichi.

“Ah…” Kindaichi glanced over at Kunimi, who blinked back at him, and got straight to the point. 

"Do you still intend to kiss Iwaizumi-san?"

"Well....I don't know anymore. I've admired him for a whole year now, and I'm starting to think that it might've just been admiration." Kindaichi frowned down at Kunimi, head tilted to the side like an adorable puzzled giraffe. "But I still wouldn't mind, but I wouldn't...try to kiss him? If that makes any sense." 

He chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, and all Kunimi could think of was how pure he was. And how he oddly missed the turnip haircut.

"I see. So you think your feelings might be..." Kunimi hesitated, barely wanting to get his hopes up. "Fading?"

"Yeah, I think that's the way to describe it!" Kindaichi nodded surely, gaze warm on Kunimi. "They're still there, just not as strong."

Kunimi nodded in response, his breath rising up in his throat triumphantly. He knew it was bad to be happy because Kindaichi was getting over Iwaizumi - as his best friend, he should've been trying to get them together - but he couldn't help it. His hopes were up and soaring sky-high. 

"Actually," Kindaichi broke into Kunimi's thoughts. "I never thanked you for helping me get up the courage to ask him to the bar that one time. If you weren't there, I probably would've chickened out. Thanks." 

Kindaichi smiled at him, and before Kunimi could blink, arms were wrapped around his back and Kindaichi's chest was pressing up against his. His heart almost stopped, racing in small, fluttering beats as he slowly hugged Kindaichi back, resting his chin on his shoulder. One of Kindaichi's arms were around his shoulder, another one looped underneath his arm, nothing romantic and special, but enough. Kunimi patted him on the back, trying and succeeding in not showing his elation.

It only lasted a second or two, the time of a normal, friendly hug, but to Kunimi it lasted much longer and meant much more.

\---

"Think we should tell Turnip head?" 

"Nah, " Matsukawa drawled, watching their embrace split apart from a distance. "I think they're almost there. Just give them a little more time." 

His eyes caught on someone familiar moving towards them, a knowing, condescending smirk on his lips. 

"Oh my god, stop Yahaba," Mattsun hissed. "He's moving in for the kill." 

"Shit, he'd be brutally honest with them and I don't think Kindaichi's ready yet." 

"That's why I said stop him! Come on." Mattsun grabbed Makki's wrist and hauled him into the thick of the crowd, where they managed to bump into Yahaba before he reached the duo. 

"Oh, hello Matsukawa-san, Hanamaki-san." Yahaba bowed. 

"Don't bow. That's completely unnecessary." 

"Yeah," Makki interjected. "We're here about a bigger, necessary matter." 

"Definitely bigger. Can you spare a moment?" 

Yahaba blinked, but realisation was beginning to seep through his eyes. "Sure, I guess." 

Giving Mattsun and Makki a little shock, Kyoutani appeared out of nowhere, leaning his shoulder against Yahaba's. "I'm coming too." 

He glowered at the duo, as if expecting a protest, but Makki simply shrugged. "Sure, why not? It can be like our own little club. Turnip-head's love life discussion group." 

"Catchy, I'm in."

Yahaba's expression changed, his eyes smirking. "So that's what this is about. I wasn't going to say anything to them, you know. Simply a tiny push in the right direction. " 

"What, like we did for you and Kyoutani?" 

"No. You physically shoved me into him like twelve years olds do." 

Matsukawa and Hanamaki immediately started protesting. 

"It was a push in the right direction!" 

“Just literally.”

"The sexual tension between you two was so high it was ridiculous. Can you blame us?" 

"It forced you two to talk, didn't it?"

Yahaba glowered at them a moment, before realising Kyoutani was chuckling beside him, the pleasant vibrations running into Yahaba's body. "What are you laughing about?" 

"Remember the time you stumbled and fell, and you were instinctively reaching for anything to stop your fall, and you grabbed onto the crotch of my shorts?" 

Yahaba started, his entire face turning crimson as Matsukawa and Hanamaki degraded into two suspicious coughing fits. 

"Did that happen in high school?" Hanamaki gasped out. "God, I miss all the good stuff." 

"We didn't even to get to see your first kiss," Matsukawa complained. "As your experienced gay uncles who guided you along the path to homosexual enlightenment, I think we deserved that much."

"We didn't get together until college," Kyoutani explained. "Would've been hard to arrange that." 

"Don't  encourage them," Yahaba hissed. "It wasn't as if we knew when we'd kiss." 

Kyoutani blinked at him. "Really?"

"No! How was I supposed to know that I realised I liked you in the middle of a practice match?" 

"You didn't have to tell me right there and then." 

"And you didn't have to kiss me right there and then." 

"It worked. We won the match." 

"Are you saying you kissed me to win the match?" 

"It helped. You were overthinking again." 

"I'm starting to wish they went to the same college as us," Hanamaki commented as Yahaba and Kyoutani began arguing over whether making out before a match helps him stop thinking so much or not.

"Me too," Matsukawa agreed. "I feel like we’re missing out on quality entertainment." 

"Although Terushima punching Suga was some dramatic shit." 

"True, I wish I’d gotten it on camera.”

A quick glance back to Kyoutani and Yahaba revealed Yahaba to be softly holding Kyoutani’s hand, argument obviously resolved. Matsukawa grabbed Makki’s hand immediately, not to be outdone. 

"Listen, the only couple we're trying to form tonight is Iwaizumi and Oikawa,” Matsukawa explained. “Making couples is like picking fruit. If you pick it too early, before it’s developed, it’s all sour and not good at all. That’s Kindaichi and Kunimi. If you leave it too late, the fruit falls and it gets all mushy and gross and eaten by bugs. That’s why something needs to happen between Iwaizumi and Oikawa.”

“Kawaiwa.”

“What, no. I thought we agreed on Zumioi.”

“That’s stupid.”

“.......Waizumi?”

“No.”

Yahaba blinked, years of practice allowing him to bypass all the irrelevant commentary. "But I thought they were already together. They seemed pretty into each other at the hospital." 

"They are into each other, that's why we need to get them together," Hanamaki explained. “We’ve worked on Iwaizumi-”

“And Oikawa. Sort of.”

“-so now we’re simply waiting for one of them to make a move.”

“They have twenty-four hours before we get serious.”

“Can I help? It sounds just like the sort of shitstorm I’d be into,” Yahaba inquired, flicking his puffy fringe out of his eyes. “Any excuse to get under Oikawa’s skin, really.”

“Of course. The more the merrier, right?” Matsukawa grinned widely. “Actually, there is something we’d like your help with…”

“I’m in.”

“Yahaba-kun, sometimes you are way too trusting.”

“I’m still in.”

“Kyoutani?”

“Yes.”

“Sweet. That’s all we need.”

\---

Kyoutani sidled up to Oikawa, eyes flicking around uncomfortably. "The bathroom," he muttered lowly. 

“What about it?”

"It's been occupied for ten minutes."

"And he really has to pee," Yahaba added, sliding up beside him. “He’s got a really tiny bladder.”

As Kyoutani turned his head to glare at a grinning Yahaba, Oikawa  chirped out, "Not to worry, your senpai will sort it out for you!"

Beaming at him, Oikawa made his way to the bathroom door, rapping on it delicately. "Whoever's in there, get out. Mad Dog-chan has to piss, and he's not soiling my carpet."

"Fuck," echoed from the other side of the door. 

Oikawa narrowed his eyes. "Makki?"

"No," came another, completely different voice. 

Then it clicked for Oikawa, and he banged on the door indignantly, offended. "Mattsun, Makki, are you two having sex? In my bathroom? That's the height of rudeness! I want both of you out, now."

"We're not," came a protest, and then a half-stifled, slurred moan. "Ah, fuck, Issei. That’s good. And Oiks, it isn't as if we haven't done it before, after all." 

"You've had sex in my bathroom before?" Oikawa exclaimed, outraged as he pounded on the door again. "Get out. In fact, get out of my house. You two are disgusting."

"Fine, fine, fine-just give us a second."

"You've been in there ten minutes already!" 

"Just because you last the grand total of four minutes in bed, Oiks, doesn't mean we do, too." 

"Nice, Takahiro. Now fuck me harder." 

"We can hear you," Oikawa announced, pointedly sticking his fingers in his ears and turning away from the door. A couple of snickers, mingled with muffled groans, emitted from the bathroom. 

"Oh, trust me, we know." 

"They're just doing this to irritate me, aren't they?" Oikawa fumed, hammering on the door once again. "Joke's on you two, I'm going to remove the lock so you can't do it in my bathroom ever again." 

"Ho ho, you think that'll stop us?" 

"You two are so gross," Oikawa rolled his eyes as Iwaizumi pushed past Kyoutani, frowning. "What's happening?" 

"Mattsun and Makki are fucking in my bathroom and I'm so going to kinkshame them for the rest of their lives. And I'm going to take off the lock and drag them out if they try it again." 

"Don't take the lock off. I live here too, asshole." 

"Mm, I didn't that know gorillas needed their own personal space."

“Fuck off.” 

“Great comeback as always, Iwa-chan. One of your best features, to be honest. Now can you get those two shitheads out of my bathroom?”

“I’ll try. For Kyoutani’s bladder’s sake, not you.”

Iwaizumi wrapped a palm around the doorknob, rotated, pushed, and the door swung open easily.

Oikawa yelped, flinging a hand over Kyoutani’s eyes with a gasp as Hanamaki roughly yanked up Matsukawa’s pants, only clothed in his boxers. “You disgusting men! There are children here!”

“We never said the door was locked in the first place,” Matsukawa pointed out with a large grin, eyes glinting as Hanamaki buckled up his belt, one hand buried between his hip and waistband. 

“He’s got a point,” Iwaizumi admitted as Kyoutani smacked away Oikawa’s hand, Yahaba having to bite down on his index finger to stop from giggling madly. 

“It doesn’t matter if the door was locked or not! Get out!” 

Oikawa strode into the bathroom and shoved the chuckling couple out, gesturing to Kyoutani.

“Mad Dog, get your ass in there. I suffered so you could pee.”

Kyoutani silently wound around Iwaizumi and into the bathroom, and Iwaizumi began to shut the door again when a hand stopped it, and another body deftly wriggled its way in.

“See you in a bit, Oikawa-senpai,” Yahaba grinned, pulling a condom out of his pocket and waving it around for a second before closing the door.

They both heard the solid thud of the bolt sliding home. 

“Are they-are they actually-” Oikawa’s jaw was swinging open, whether in disbelief or outrage, Iwaizumi didn’t know. 

“We trained them well,” Matsukawa announced, slipping his shirt back on over his head. 

“I’m so proud of them,” Hanamaki added on, hopping back into his jeans. “They follow our example so perfectly that they almost do a better job than us.”

“That’s a not good thing! Yahaba, if you have sex in there I swear to fuck I’ll-! Well, I don’t know what I’ll do but it’ll be nasty and make you regret doing this!”

“What’s the issue?” Iwaizumi inquired, entirely straight-faced. “It’s not as if they’re going to break anything.”

A loud bang echoed from the other side of the door, likely one of Oikawa’s many, many various hair products.

“It’s unlikely that they’ll break anything,” Iwaizumi amended as Oikawa visibly disintegrated, his mouth opening and closing, as if finding no words strong enough to fuel his outrage. 

“Congratulations,” Hanamaki called into the bathroom. “You managed to render Oikawa absolutely speechless.”

“You broke him. Good job, you two,” Matsukawa told the wooden door, where suspicious noises were now emerging from. “Even we’ve only managed to do that a few times.”

“Do you think they want a medal?”

“I’d happily give it to them. Heck, I’d even plan out the whole ceremony.”

Oikawa’s face was entirely red, his hands jerkily moving about in the air randomly. “I can’t believe-my own kouhais….betraying me like this.”

“Terribly sorry,” Matsukawa apologised with a grin that suggested the exact opposite. 

“Also, if you find a condom in your shower, it wasn’t us,” Hanamaki called back over his shoulder as he pushed Mattsun towards the food table. “I’m craving raw fish.”

“You have the weirdest post-orgasm craves ever.”

Iwaizumi could barely pick up Hanamaki’s response as they shifted around Daichi’s fine ass, sparing a wink for Sugawara, but it was something about boiled pickles. He didn’t think he wanted to know any more, although his mind turned to what Oikawa might crave after orgasm. He hoped it wasn’t alcohol. Was that even possible? Sighing inwardly, Iwaizumi tried to shake the automatic connection of Oikawa to alcohol out of his mind. Maybe it was pizza or something. Something a little more normal and regular.

Iwaizumi hummed, catching the attention of a sulking, pouting Oikawa.

“Iwa-chan, I hope you’re considering how to scold those two as soon as soon as they step out of my soiled bathroom.”

Iwaizumi shrugged, nudging Oikawa’s shoulder to lead him away from the bathroom, hoping his mood would lift. “It isn’t that big of a deal, is it?”

“How would you feel if I had sex in  _ your  _ bathroom without asking permission first? It’s just so rude,” Oikawa huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Well, I don’t really have a bathroom that’s mine anymore.”

“Oh, yeah! They had sex in your bathroom too!”

“Oikawa, it’s not really mine…”

“Why aren’t you outraged? They’re probably really messy! Who do you think is going to have to scoop up any loose pubic hairs from the sink? Do you want to accidentally sit down on come, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi blinked as they wove through Kuroo chasing after Kenma, who was probably running away from a hug or something. “I didn’t think of that, but it won’t be that bad, will it?”

“One, you don’t know Makki and Mattsun well enough. They have absolutely zero boundaries. Two - and this is the main one.” Oikawa halted in the kitchen next to the food, holding up a finger as he selected a slice of pizza. “As of tonight, two separate couples have had - well, having -” Oikawa’s face scrunched up in disgust, “-sex in my bathroom. I haven’t even had sex in my bathroom!”

I’d be up for that, Iwaizumi thought reflexively, then quickly shook off the thought before the idea spread, and before his body began to react to the pictures and imaginary sensations flooding his mind. 

Or, tried to. 

Eager shivers erupted all over Iwaizumi’s skin, and his fingers gripped the side of his jeans, curling up tensely. Him inside Oikawa? Or Oikawa inside of him? His teeth sought the soft flesh of his lower lip and he chewed on it absently, seriously pondering the question. 

Both, he decided with a thrill running up his spine.

“Iwa-chan? Earth to Iwa-chan, I’m on a rant and you aren’t listening to me.”

Oikawa’s hand waved in front of his face, and Iwaizumi blinked suddenly to refocus on Oikawa, currently taking a bite out of the pizza in his hand, somehow managing to do it in a huffy way.

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi apologised lowly, glancing away to grab another beer. “I zoned out for a moment.”

Oikawa swallowed, Iwaizumi’s eyes ghosting down to the smooth movement.

“Whatever. I’m going to see if Noya and Asahi want a turn next, since every couple here seems to be taking advantage of my poor bathroom,” he announced and swerved away through the crowd.

Iwaizumi wasn’t proud of the fact, but his eyes did dip downwards, trailing down the back of Oikawa’s sauntering, graceful form. Effortlessly beautiful, as always.

Iwaizumi didn’t follow, sure that he’d see him later anyway. Maybe he’d have decided how to kiss him by then.

\---

“Are you going somewhere?”

Oikawa felt a hand, familiar and gentle on his shoulder, halting him. He turned around, already ready with a smile to flash at Iwaizumi. “Just outside for a smoke.”

“I’ll join you. Give me a second to get my coat.”

Iwaizumi’s hand trailed off his shoulder as he dodged in between the tightly knit bodies, and Oikawa dawdled at the doorway, scuffing the soles of his shoes against the rug. Within thirty seconds, Iwaizumi appeared in front of him, pushing at his shoulder.

“Come on. I need some fresh air.”

Oikawa narrowed his eyes as he stepped out into the corridor, recognising the jacket Iwaizumi was wearing. “Isn’t that mine? I hope you wash it before you give it back to me. I don’t want your disgusting bodily fluids on my skin.”

Iwaizumi frowned down at himself, outstretching his arms and examining the design on it.

“Oh, yeah. This is yours, isn’t it? The one you gave me on the hospital roof. I forgot about it.”

“How do you forget that you have a jacket that you don’t remember buying?” Oikawa huffed, shaking his head as they drifted into the elevator. “You really are dense - ow, what was that for?!”

“Stop insulting me,” Iwaizumi said, withdrawing his finger from where he’d jabbed Oikawa’s side, steady under Oikawa’s pouted lips and hurt expression. Pressing the ground floor button, he casually leaned back against the mirror aligned on the back wall, glancing away from Oikawa. Oikawa rolled his eyes and started combing his fingers through his hair, fixing all those little flyaway strands, tiny but oh so annoying. 

“You may have to drag me away from this mirror,” he commented, not wanting the silence to get too loaded. The atmosphere between them was already thick as the darkest fog, weighing heavy on his tongue. “Once I start admiring myself, I’m occupied for the day.”

Iwaizumi snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t worry. I won’t have a problem kicking you out of the elevator.”

“Don’t! You’ll mess up my hair even more,” Oikawa complained, but the usual whining tone of his voice was missing. Because Iwaizumi’s eyes were locked on him now, he could feel them following every swift movement of his fingers running through his hair, tracing every curve of his face. It made Oikawa’s breath quicken, his mind involuntarily wondering what the sensation of Iwaizumi’s fingers dragging roughly through his hair, tugging and twisting, would feel like. That led onto what Iwaizumi would be doing when gripping his hair, and that thought made Oikawa inhale sharply, quickly covering it over with a quiet cough. 

“Why’re you so focused on what your hair looks like?”

Iwaizumi’s question caught Oikawa completely off guard, and when his gaze entangled with Iwaizumi’s one, unyielding and gentle at the same time, his head actually spun around, and not from the alcohol. 

“Why wouldn’t I be? My hair is wonderful, and I like to keep it that way.”

“But it looks cute when you leave it do its own thing,” Iwaizumi said shortly, frank and honest. 

Oikawa’s lungs and tongue failed him at the same time.

“D - does it?” he repeated breathlessly. “Look...cute?”

He stuttered. Oikawa Tooru fucking stuttered, and he didn’t care. All he cared about at the moment was getting more compliments from Iwaizumi.

Glancing away again, Iwaizumi’s expression soured, something Oikawa recognised as a self-defense mechanism. “Yeah, I guess. Just don’t get too fucking cocky about it.”

“Cocky? Me? Never,” Oikawa sighed out airily, feeling like he was in control of himself again with Iwaizumi no longer looking at him. Especially like that. It was like he unravelled underneath Iwaizumi’s steady, caring demeanour, his very presence fucking up Oikawa’s usual flawless, confident lies. He wanted to be honest when Iwaizumi was around. He felt like he could be, and Iwa-chan wouldn’t leave. 

“Yeah, you’re definitely not a cocky asshole at all,” Iwaizumi snorted out, straightening up to shove his hands into his pockets as the lift halted. 

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa told him brightly as they stepped out together. The lobby was completely deserted, which wasn’t unusual for this time of night. 

“You can’t tell if I’m being sarcastic or not, and you call me dense.”

“That’s because you are!”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Ah, so you were being sarcastic! Unless that was sarcasm and the other wasn’t…”

“Oikawa, shut up and smoke your cigarette already.”

Oikawa beamed at him, and it was the easiest smile to make in a long time. It almost lifted the corners of his mouth on its own without him having to strain it upwards. “Whatever you say, Hedgehog-chan.”

Iwaizumi glowered at him silently as Oikawa lit up, both of them loitering just down the steps. Oikawa cupped his free hand around the end of his cigarette, cursing the unrelenting, freezing wind. It was June, for fuck’s sake. It shouldn’t be this cold, or windy, even at night. 

“Here,” Iwaizumi said starkly, taking the lighter from Oikawa’s cold fingers and sparking it up effortlessly. His hand hovered lightly above Oikawa’s, helping him protect the little flame from the cutting wind as he held up the fire to the end of the cigarette. Despite Oikawa’s shaky breathing - Iwaizumi was so damn close to him, with his unknowingly gorgeous eyelashes cast downwards, focused on his task - the cigarette lit up easily. Oikawa felt disappointment crash through him as Iwaizumi took a measured step back, handing back the lighter. He wanted to stay longer like that. He wanted to see how much difference five centimetres made, how he could stare at his straight nose, subtle cheekbones and thick lips without him knowing. 

Especially his lips. Iwaizumi's lips were so wide and full that Oikawa didn't even feel an ounce of jealousy anymore when he gazed at them. Any envy he might've had was totally overwhelmed by his desire to feel them against his own mouth, to taste him on his lips. Oikawa had a sudden image of the lift ride up, of him striding over two steps to press Iwaizumi against the wall, hands gliding down his toned front before reaching his belt. Unhesitatingly, deftly, undoing the front of his jeans and slipping forward onto his knees, feeling Iwaizumi's fingers sliding through his hair. He could almost feel the hitch of his breathing as Oikawa slowly stripped back the front of his jeans, leaning forward to tongue him, teasing and gentle, through his boxers. He could almost sense the tiny quivers of Iwaizumi's legs underneath his hands as he dragged down the waistband with his teeth, almost feel Iwaizumi's fingers tighten around his hair, almost hear the quiet hiss of impatience passing his lips. Closing his eyes, Oikawa focused on imagining what Iwaizumi's sensitive skin would feel like against his lips, what sounds Iwaizumi- 

"Ah!" Oikawa jerked his hand, the cigarette stub dropping to the ground. 

"Fucking thing," he hissed, holding up the burn on the inside of his fingers to his mouth, sucking to soothe it. It was his own fault really, for getting too caught up in his daydreaming, but it felt good to curse something out. 

Low chuckling emitted from beside him, and Oikawa's head whipped around to glare at Iwaizumi, who was now sitting on the lowest steps. 

"You deserved that." 

"I didn't! It wasn't my fault that I wasn't paying attention," Oikawa snapped back before realising how that sounded. 

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow skeptically, pointedly looking around him, at the deserted street. "There's nobody else here to distract you, and I wasn't. At least come up with a semi-believable excuse." 

Words died in Oikawa's throat, words that didn't even make it to his lips before he dismissed them. What was he supposed to say? Actually, Iwa-chan, I was picturing giving you head in the lift, so you were distracting me and it was your fault, ha! That'd go down great. 

"Whatever," Oikawa mumbled, sulkily plopping down beside Iwaizumi on the steps. Fumbling in his pockets, he produced a box, flicking the lid open and tugging out a cigarette. 

"Another?" Iwaizumi questioned, his gaze dropping to Oikawa's fingers as he stuffed the box back. 

"Yeah. Another. What of it?" Oikawa didn't mean to sound defensive, but it kind of slipped out that way. After watching him struggle to light the end for a few seconds, Iwaizumi sighed and leaned over, taking the lighter from Oikawa again. 

"I feel like I'm helping you slowly kill yourself," Iwaizumi muttered as Oikawa dipped the end down into the flame, shoulders pressed together. Oikawa snorted, almost blowing out the tiny, quavering piece of fire. "I'll quit when I have something to live for."

"Cheery," Iwaizumi mumbled back, but he met Oikawa's gaze sharply, eyes deep with concern. "Do you really feel like that? That you have nothing to live for?" 

Faltering, Oikawa broke the eye contact, staring down at his knees. Iwaizumi didn't move away. 

Stupid, stupid, Oikawa cursed himself. Let's complain that I have nothing to live for to the guy who's lost his entire family. Great fucking idea, Tooru. 

And...did he? He was self-destructive, sure, but the thought of ending it all on purpose sent a shiver up his spine. No, he decided. He wasn't suicidal. He just didn't care if he shortened his lifespan or damaged himself. 

"I'm not suicidal, if that's what you're asking," Oikawa replied honestly, his gaze staying in his lap. 

He felt Iwaizumi stare hard at him for a second or two longer, as if trying to decide whether to believe him or not. 

"I've never harmed myself, or at least, not when sober." Oikawa smiled, but it fell flat. "So you don't have to worry, Iwa-chan. I'll be here when you get back from work every day." 

He felt soft fingers wrap around the back of his neck, and before he could blink Iwaizumi's forehead was pressing against his own, Iwaizumi's musty green eyes searching his. The breath felt like it had been sucked straight out of Oikawa's lungs, his hand drifting down to rest on the concrete step, bringing the cigarette with it. Then Iwaizumi spoke, his voice as tender and caring as his touch. 

"You better mean that, asshole." 

Oikawa swallowed thickly, his fingers curling up in his lap. 

"I do." 

"Good."

Iwaizumi stayed there a second longer, holding the eye contact that damn near made Oikawa's heart stop, and then pulled away. He turned back around to face the street again, but Oikawa couldn't make his body obey, couldn't twist away from Iwaizumi, couldn't stop gazing. The area of skin at the back of his neck where Iwaizumi's hand had caressed smouldered quietly. He wanted Iwaizumi to touch him like that again so badly it actually burned. He'd never been handled so gently. He had always been an object of lust, a hot body and a handsome face to use, and now he was slowly realising that he wasn't just those things to Iwaizumi. 

Iwaizumi's eyes, appearing dark in the dim yellow glow of the streetlights, flickered over to Oikawa, and widened. His body started forward, a hand reaching towards Oikawa's face but halting short. 

"Oikawa, are you alright? You're crying." 

Blinking through blurry, brown eyes, Oikawa's hand floated up to his face, meeting damp cheeks and a runny nose. 

"Oh, shit," Oikawa cursed, rifling around in his pockets for a tissue. 

"Here, I've got one." Iwaizumi's body shifted closer to Oikawa's, a hand catching onto his chin as a tissue dabbed across his features. 

"God, this is embarrassing," Oikawa chuckled. "I haven't cried in years." 

That was the truth. Oikawa didn't cry. He numbed himself. 

"Why are you crying?" Iwaizumi asked, a frantic undertone to his voice barely masked over as he mopped up Oikawa's tears. "Did I do something?"

"Stop worrying, Iwa-chan." Oikawa angled his face upwards, gazing at the particles and specks of light flowing across the world's river known as the sky, and smiled without meaning to. Iwaizumi withdrew a little, lowering the tissue into his lap. "Oikawa?" 

"It's okay, Iwa-chan," Oikawa breathed softly. "I think I'm crying out of happiness." 

Iwaizumi didn’t reply.

When Oikawa ceased staring at the stars, he dropped his gaze to Iwaizumi once again. He was stooped over himself, one sleeve of his jacket yanked over his hand and covering his eyes. 

"Iwa-chan?" Oikawa questioned, wet eyes widening. "Are you crying now too?"

"No, of course not," Iwaizumi grunted indistinctly, the sleeve of his jacket dragging across his eyes. "Don't be stupid." 

Oikawa blinked. "You're crying. You're actually crying. Why?" 

"Look, I think..." Iwaizumi trailed off. "I think it's just because I'm so glad you're happy, alright?" 

He straightened up, exposing his creased, reddened eyes, but not looking at Oikawa. Oikawa's heart leapt. Nobody had ever said that before. Nobody, he thought, had ever been glad that I was happy, so glad they cried. Oikawa's next words drifted out of his mouth of their own will, breathy and soft, so soft, quieter and more tender than a whisper. 

"I think I'm falling in love with you." 

Iwaizumi glanced over at him. "What?" 

Oikawa had never meant to say anything, let alone that. 

"Nothing," he said, looking away and stabbing his cigarette down into the cold concrete. Unfolding up off of the steps, he walked over to be in front of Iwaizumi, outstretching a hand. "Come on, let's go back. I want to show you drunk Samawura. It's hilarious, trust me. He starts telling off inanimate objects, like last time he walked into a door and started telling it sternly that it should be open." 

Iwaizumi chuckled and took Oikawa's hand, sending sparks up his arm. "Sounds entertaining. I'm going to look forward to seeing it." 

Oikawa nodded, pulling him up to his feet, dropping his hand and taking a quick, hasty step backwards to give him room. His heel caught on the edge of the curb - shit, why were his strides so long - and he lost his balance, toppling backwards with a small cry of surprise. Before he could fall, he felt a sharp, violent tug on his jacket, and then he stopped in mid-air, a low mutter of, "Idiot," echoing in his ears. Steadying himself with a sheepish smile, Oikawa glanced up, and his heart jolted in his chest. Iwaizumi had stepped in nearer to grab his jacket, and now there was barely any space between their bodies, their faces almost as close as they were earlier. Oikawa felt Iwaizumi's grip on his jacket tighten, tugging him in even closer, and Oikawa could've sworn his eyes drifted down to his lips. 

"You're welcome, asshole."

Oikawa felt himself smirk, catching his lower lip between his teeth slowly. "I thought you would've let me fall." 

Iwaizumi's pupils dilated so much that there was only a sliver of green visible, and his lips parted as if to speak. Oikawa's breath stilled utterly in anticipation, all his nerves crying out for him to do one thing, to stop with the talking already.

_ Kiss me.  _

"As..." Iwaizumi licked his lips, glancing down at his fist curled up on Oikawa's chest. "As much as I'd like to see that, you might've screwed up your knee further. " 

He was right, but that didn’t mean Oikawa was going to let that comment go silently without teasing him about it. Maybe if he gave him a subtle push in the right direction, he’d finally get the message.

"Oh, Iwa-chan, it’s so sweet that you care so much about my wellbeing." 

“Don’t call me sweet.”

“What, am I ruining all your street cred?” 

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi breathed, the words coming out a hell of a lot more softer and suggestive than he’d intended. 

Oikawa’s smirk melted off his lips by itself, his eyelids lowering and gaze sliding to Iwaizumi’s slightly open lips, back up to his eyes and back down to his appealing mouth. He made his intentions clear, and from the way Iwaizumi’s eyes were dipping downwards too, he wanted the same thing. 

Come on, Oikawa willed. Lean forward just a bit further. Work with me here.

With that thought in mind, Oikawa angled his head just slightly to the side, subtly bending closer to Iwaizumi and somehow finding the courage to lightly run his fingers up the side of Iwaizumi’s arm. In all his twenty three years, Oikawa had never quite felt a need like this. A need to feel Iwaizumi’s breath mingling with his, inhaling all the sweet little puffs of his essence. He'd never been close enough to another human to feel like this, and he felt himself slowly, pleasantly being smothered.

Close. So, so, close. 

“Oikawa-san?”

“Kageyama! Really? Can you not pick up on atmosphere  _ at all _ ? Are you actually  _ this  _ hopeless?” 

Yaku’s frustrated voice shattered through the mood, and Iwaizumi jerked backwards, releasing Oikawa’s shirt. The two of them spun to face the trio on the pathway, and Oikawa had to force himself not to curl his lips back into a snarl. All good feeling evaporated out of his body. It was like having all his failures thrown back in his face, stinging just like the first time, seeing them again. His failure to surpass Ushijima. His failure to stay ahead of Kageyama. 

All his faults and flaws he'd tried so hard to stamp out, cut out of himself, standing right in front of him. 

Apart from Yaku. 

He was cool.

Ushijima tilted his head to the side. “Did we interrupt something? Apologies.”

“Sorry about these two,” Yaku said, shoving at Ushijima’s arm - he couldn’t reach his shoulder - but it barely moved him. “They’re completely fucking clueless at anything else but volleyball and farming.”

“I can read people better than him,” Ushijima stated. “I knew not to say anything.”

“Wouldn’t it have been awkward if I hadn’t said anything?” Kageyama wondered aloud, such a honest puzzled expression on his handsome face that Oikawa wanted to throw up.

“Ushiwaka, Tobio. What a truly unpleasant surprise. Good to see you, Yaku.”

Oikawa smiled stiffly.

“Oh, so you’re Yaku?” Iwaizumi inquired.

Yaku nodded. “And you’re Iwaizumi, I’m assuming?”

“Yeah. How do you know me?”

“Oh…” Yaku met Oikawa’s gaze and winked. “Kuroo tells me about you, obviously. It’s your birthday today, right? Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.”

“So, Yaku, what are you doing here?” Oikawa asked, a big, painted grin stretched across his face. 

“We wanted to see you,” Ushijima told him, matter-of-factly. “See how you were.”

“And if we gave you notice, you’d be out like you always were when we called,” Yaku chided softly. “I’m sorry Iwaizumi, we didn’t mean to crash your party, but we had to get a time when we knew Oikawa would be home.” 

Iwaizumi inclined his head downwards. “It’s no trouble. You can come in, if you want.”

“Nah.” Yaku declined immediately. “These two aren’t exactly social creatures.”

“How are you, Oikawa-san?” Kageyama asked suddenly. 

Oikawa gave him a tight-lipped smile, violently pulling out his packet of cigarettes and yanking one out. 

“Just fine, Tobio-chan. Just fucking perfect.”

Kageyama frowned. “You don’t sound fine.”

“Brilliant observation. Stupendous. This is why they call you a goddamn genius,” Oikawa spat out, mishandling his lighter and almost dropping it. “Ah, fuck.”

Iwaizumi stepped forward to aid him, but Oikawa swatted him back with the back of one hand, across his chest. “I’m fine, Iwa-chan. I can handle it.” 

Iwaizumi’s gaze narrowed, but he stayed back, eying up the trio opposite them instead. 

Ushijima, as expected, was tall, dark, and handsome, serious-looking. The quiet type schoolteachers would probably go crazy for. Kageyama was oddly similar to him in a way, with a silent aura of confidence, and yet there was a vast difference between them that Iwaizumi couldn’t quite put his finger on. He’d seen both of them play before, of course, with that ginger fluffball going wild with every toss of Kageyama’s. He knew how amazing they were, along with Yaku, the deft libro. His head spun a little when he thought about how many incredible players were surrounding him right now, or perhaps it was just his mind catching up with his body, and what was about to happen before Kageyama did his dumb thing. They were about to kiss, right? He had been getting all the right signals from Oikawa, and he recognised them, even if he hadn’t seen the signs since he was sixteen and just coming to terms with the fact that he might like guys too. 

Oikawa’s shaking hands and failure to light up reminded Iwaizumi that this wasn’t the time for zoning out.

“Here,” Iwaizumi said firmly, grasping Oikawa’s shoulder and turning him towards him, taking the lighter out of his hands. He left no room for argument or another dismissal from Oikawa’s pride.

He could’ve been imagining it, but he thought he heard a tiny, “thank you,” pass by Oikawa’s lips.

The end caught after a few tries, complete silence draping over the five of them. Nobody tried to break the silence until the end was glowing, and Iwaizumi wasn’t sure if it was because the majority of the people present were socially awkward or if it was because of something else, another reason a lot heavier. 

“So, what have you been up to lately, Oikawa? We haven’t talked in ages.”

Yaku’s voice was the first one to slice through the silence.

“You haven’t talked to any of us lately,” Ushijima added in his characteristically deep, rich tone.

As always, the righteousness of it pissed Oikawa right the fuck off. 

Oikawa blew out some smoke viciously, rapidly whipped away by the biting wind. “Well, I’ve been bumming around mostly, so there isn’t much to tell. The most exciting thing that happened was that I met Iwa-chan here, which is sad. He isn’t that exciting.”

Iwaizumi smacked the back of Oikawa’s head lightly. “I told you to stop insulting me.”

Oikawa angled his face to smile condescendingly at him, blinking with wide, innocent brown eyes. Iwaizumi’s jaw clenched. Oikawa looked more stiff and on edge than he’d ever seen him before, with heightened shoulders and a grin snapped tighter than the pussies all the rappers rap about. 

“I can’t help it, Iwa-chan. You make it too easy.” 

“Hey, Iwaizumi, what high school did you go to?” Yaku questioned. “I think I’ve seen your face around before.”

“Uh, my mom moved to Tokyo when I was four, and I went to Kokusai high school. I’m not in college, but Kuroo lets me train with his team.”

Yaku scrunched up his eyebrows, looking thoughtful. “Kokusai, huh?”

“Not particularly strong,” Iwaizumi confessed. “We were a pretty average team.”

“How did you two meet?” Ushijima asked politely. 

“It’s probably something you’ll approve of,” Oikawa told him. “You’re a romantic, aren’t you? How about stopping someone from being raped by a group of not-so-friendly men? That would be right up your alleyway, wouldn’t it?” 

“Oikawa,” Yaku cut in warningly. “Tone it down.”

Oikawa’s grin broke as he sneered at Ushijima and Kageyama.

“I’m nowhere near drunk enough to deal with these two imbeciles.”

With that, he spun around and gracefully retreated up the steps, the lobby door banging closed after him. 

“He’s not doing well, is he?” Kageyama asked.

“No.” Iwaizumi gazed at the door for a few seconds. “I’d better go up after him, make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“I’ll go with you,” Yaku told him, then turned around to the other two. “You two, clear off. He doesn’t want to see you.”

“Clearly,” Ushijima responded, whereas Kageyama just looked vaguely bemused. “Why not?”

“You’re better than him at volleyball.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Yaku sighed. “I’ll explain it to your innocent little brain later, Kages. For now, just go, alright?”

Kageyama, clearly still bemused, nodded anyway, black hair swimming under the grainy streetlights. Ushijima raised a hand at Iwaizumi, who nodded back respectfully. 

“Yaku-san, call me when you want to come back home.”

“I will, so shoo. I’ll be back soon,” Yaku assured them, then hopped up the steps, Iwaizumi following along, praying that Oikawa actually went back to his apartment.

\----

Iwaizumi  and Yaku didn't even have to search for him. Oikawa strode right up to them, scowl fixed on his face and waving a hand around in frustration. 

"Iwa-chan, what did you do with my vodka?" 

"I poured it down the sink," Iwaizumi replied evenly as Oikawa's lips curled back. 

"You had no right to do that." 

"I didn't, but I did it anyway.”

Iwaizumi held Oikawa's glare, Oikawa's nose scrunching up and head tilting back as if he'd just smelt something distasteful and revolting. Without a word, he shoved his way past Iwaizumi and towards the door, but there Yaku blocked his path. 

"Oikawa, no. No getting blackout drunk tonight." 

Oikawa's lips tightened, and he spun back around, snatching a beer straight  out of Yahaba's hands, spitting back over his shoulder, "Some friends you two are." 

Iwaizumi watched him vanish through the people dotted around into the kitchen, eyebrows lowering. Yaku stepped up beside him, letting out a sigh. “Is there any other alcohol but beer here?”

“Unless somebody brought extra, I don’t think so.”

"Then one of us needs to keep an eye on the door. He shouldn't be able to get utterly wasted with just the beer here, but if we take our eyes off of him for a moment he'll slip out. He's good at that." 

"Alright," Iwaizumi agreed. "He'll be mad at us, but he'll get over it."  

"I take it that you've found out about his episodes, then?" 

"Yeah. That's why I emptied out every bottle that I could find earlier, when he was passed out." 

"Every bottle you could find?" Yaku frowned up at him. "How well did you check? He used to always had a hidden backup supply of dope somewhere. We were cleaning out the gym one day and found some in an old, deflated volleyball." 

"I thought I checked pretty well..." Iwaizumi trailed off, starting to move towards where Oikawa had disappeared. He wasn't absolutely certain he'd searched everywhere, and an uneasy feeling was squirming around in his chest. "Yaku, stay by the door." 

"Gotcha." 

\---

"Oikawa-san, I really don't think it's a good idea to - to drink that fast..." 

Oikawa glowered at him out of the corner of his eye, putting down the half-empty bottle he'd pulled out from behind the fridge. "Kindaichi, you don't know what you're talking about. Shut up." 

Swinging his head back, more burning swished down Oikawa's throat, and more people rotated around to stare at him. Kindaichi stepped forward again, hesitantly placing a hand on Oikawa's arm, and another one on the end of the bottle, gently pressing downwards. 

"Please, Oikawa-san. Stop, or at least drink some water now." 

Anger flared up behind Oikawa's temple, pulsing along his limbs, his body, flooding him with rage. Why were people always interfering? He could do whatever he fucking wanted to do, it wasn't any of their bloody business! Slamming down the bottle on the table so hard it cracked underneath his fingertips, Oikawa drew back his hand, intending to show Kindaichi exactly what happened when you messed with someone else's fucking business.  His hand swung, he saw Kindaichi's arms fly up to protect his face, and then there was a steady grip on his wrist, halting it completely. 

"Calm down, asshole!" 

Oikawa, started, turning with wide eyes to face Iwaizumi, glaring at him with eyes of steel. Dropping his hand, Oikawa's anger throbbed once, twice, then died and faded away completely. He was left with the shock and horrid realisation of what he'd almost done. In front of everyone, too. He could feel everyone's eyes on him, boring into him, judging, people's gazes that he knew but felt like strangers. 

"Iwa-chan," he whispered into the silence. 

Iwaizumi sucked in a breath, his grip on Oikawa’s wrist loosening as he closed his eyes, reining in his concern, his anger at how Oikawa was destroying himself yet again and allowing his frustration to spill over onto others. He opened his eyes again, having steadied himself. 

"Party's over, everyone," Iwaizumi called out. "Sorry about finishing up early, does everyone have a safe way to get home?" 

"No. Kuroo's driving me back," Kenma muttered, which got a round of titters. 

Oikawa didn't hear them. He didn't hear anything but the overwhelming whoosh of disappointment and failure in his ears. He stood there, blankly staring at the people streaming out of the corridor behind him. 

"Hey," Iwaizumi said softly. "You alright?" 

Oikawa started to shake his head before he realised Iwaizumi wasn't talking to him. 

He was looking at Kindaichi. 

That hurt Oikawa more than it should’ve.

"Yeah..." Kindaichi told him, seemingly half in shock. “I didn’t expect for him to…”

Draping himself against Iwaizumi’s side, Oikawa rested his forehead on his shoulder numbly, closing his eyes. He should apologise. He knew very well he should apologise.

“Kin-”

Oikawa’s throat closed over abruptly, his mind looping the sound of his palm smacking against the side of Kageyama’s face over and over, endlessly reminding him about his fuck-ups. His expression shattered, and his lips trembled weakly, trying desperately to keep it together. See, this was why he needed to drink. He hated being like this and sober. He felt Iwaizumi’s arm wrap around his shoulder, turning so they were facing each other, Oikawa’s eyes cloaked by the fallen strands of his hair. 

“I think he wants to apologise,” Iwaizumi told Kindaichi. At this stage, pretty much everyone had streamed out of the kitchen, and Kunimi popped in, presumably looking for Kindaichi. He instantly picked up on the atmosphere and closed his mouth, choosing to stay and observe from the doorway.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kindaichi mumbled, shifting around on the balls of his feet. “It’s fine.”

It’s not fine, Oikawa thought. It’s not fine that I hit Tobio, and it isn’t fine that I almost hit you, too. 

Kunimi chose to walk in now, facing Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s back, shoulder-to-shoulder with Kindaichi. 

“We’ve got to get going now,” he told them, nodding purposefully at Iwaizumi.

“Thank you for inviting us, Iwaizumi-san, Oikawa-san.” Kindaichi bowed politely.

“No problem.”

With a short wave from Kindaichi, they left, leaving Oikawa and Iwaizumi alone in the kitchen. He could feel Iwaizumi’s fingers slowly shuffling through his hair, massaging his scalp gently. He could also sense Iwaizumi’s fight to decide what to say. Asking if he was okay would be stupid, when it was beyond blatantly obvious that he wasn’t.

“I’ve never broken down in front of that many people before,” Oikawa whispered. “I feel like shit.”

“I don’t believe you would’ve actually hit him,” Iwaizumi said suddenly. 

“Then why’d you stop me?”

“Instinct,” Iwaizumi breathed simply. “I saw you lunging and my body moved on its own.”

“I can’t believe that I wouldn’t have hit him. I would’ve hit him! Stop trying to reassure me otherwise.”

Oikawa’s head was beginning to pulse, whether from alcohol, the lack of it or his own thoughts, he wasn’t sure. 

“Why’s everyone going? What the fuck is-” Yaku burst in, saw the scene, Oikawa stooped over with his arms dangling faintly at his sides, only his forehead in contact with Iwaizumi, whose hand was threading tenderly through his hair, and arm around his shoulders. “What happened? Why did you sweep everyone out like that?”

“I tried to hit Kindaichi,” Oikawa said flatly. 

“Oh. Oh, that’s not good.” Yaku wandered over to them, laying a hand on Oikawa’s back soothingly. “But you didn’t, right? He looked a little shell-shocked on the way out, but nothing else.”

“Iwa-chan stopped me.”

"It's okay," Iwaizumi murmured, reassuring and soft. "You didn't hit him." 

"But I would've. I hit Tobio, after all. He was only twelve, Iwa-chan. He didn't deserve that." 

"He didn’t, and you don't deserve to be beating yourself up about something you did when you were fifteen. Yeah, it was a shitty thing to do, but now it’s only a big deal in your head." 

Oikawa stayed silent, but a single tear soaked into Hajime's shirt. "I'm sorry I ruined your birthday." 

"Hey, don't worry about it. You arranged everyone to be here, in your apartment, and organised all the food and drink, right? I loved it, so there's no need to apologise." 

"I think the beer was running out anyway," Yaku mentioned offhandedly, scouting in the fridge. "It would've finished up soon regardless. No sweat, Oikawa. In one way, you did Iwaizumi a favour. He'd have to try and coax a bunch of drunks out of here or set up a place for them to stay." 

More tears prickled at the corners of Oikawa's eyes. They were trying, really trying, to help, to reassure him. 

Yaku slid a glass of water onto the table, nudging Oikawa's side. "Drink some water, you'll feel better. Maybe not now, but tomorrow, you’ll definitely thank us." 

"No," Oikawa said flatly. "I don't want to sober up any more. I'm hardly drunk as it is." 

Oikawa felt Iwaizumi shift underneath his forehead, shoulder lengthening as he reached for the glass and gently closed Oikawa's fingers around it.

"Drink it, Oikawa." 

Oikawa wanted to drop the glass. God, he wanted to let it smash against the floor. If it had been anyone else that asked, he would've without hesitation, but he'd also fucked up enough for one night. For Iwaizumi's sake, he obliged, lifting his head up lethargically and tipping the water back down his throat. "Happy? Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed." 

"Wait," Iwaizumi interrupted, grasping his wrist before he could stride off. "It's not that late yet." He glanced over at Yaku, then back at Oikawa. "Want to watch a movie or something?" 

"I'm in," Yaku agreed instantly. "I just need to be back before it gets too late."

Oikawa was about to refuse when he noticed Iwaizumi’s anxious swallow, his nervous clasp on his wrist.

He’s trying to help, he realised. He knows that I won’t be able to sleep if I go to bed now. I’d just end up curled up and wanting to cry, going over all of my fuck-ups once again. 

“Alright, enough deciding time. You’re watching something with us,” Yaku announced, pushing Oikawa towards the sitting room and halting abruptly. “Whoa, what happened to your tv?”

“There was a slight mishap and I punched it,” Oikawa confessed. “It was only a little punch, though.”

“Doesn’t look very little, but whatever. Where’d you keep your laptop?” Yaku began searching under the coffee table, and pulled it out from one of the shelves underneath. “Got it. What do you two want to watch?”

“Some comedy,” Iwaizumi said at the exact same moment Oikawa blurted out, “Horror.”

Iwaizumi looked at Oikawa out of the corner of his eye, tilting his head and frowning slightly. “I thought you hated horror movies.”

“I feel like getting scared tonight,” Oikawa replied, aching for a distraction. If he was scared out of his mind, he couldn’t be trapped in there. That was how it worked, right? 

“Alright then, sci-fi it is,” Yaku proclaimed, dumping himself sideways on the couch and booting up the machine. 

“Neither of us said that,” Iwaizumi protested, to which Yaku simply threw them a peace sign. 

“You didn’t decide on one, so I chose for you. I’ll choose one I know is good, don’t worry. I’m not that cruel. Plus, this way both of you are unhappy with the choice, not just one of you. It’s fairer.”

“That’s like Oikawa’s logic.”

“My logic is far superior, excuse you.”

Yaku suddenly narrowed his eyes mischievously, looking up at Iwaizumi with a small grin.

“Iwaizumi, have you ever seen Pretty Little Liars, by any chance?”

Oikawa couldn’t help himself clapping his hands together in glee, holding them in front of his face like a prayer emoji as Iwaizumi’s forehead creased up.

“Isn’t that tv show that all the teenage girls are into?”

“Hell yes,” Oikawa responded, and exchanged a wink with Yaku, who backed him up with, “Do you want to find out why?”

“Uh… I don’t think it’s aimed at twenty-something year old men.”

“I don’t care,” Oikawa announced, visibly perking up as his mind shifted to another subject, the thankful distraction. “I’m bring you down with me. Yaku, think we can get through season one tonight?”

“I dunno, but I’m sure as hell willing to try. I’ll text Ushijima and tell him not to expect me until morning.”

“But-” Iwaizumi hesitated, not wanting to bring up the matches, especially with Oikawa like this.

“But the matches? I’ll be grand, we don’t have one tomorrow anyway, so it’s all good.”

“Perfect.” Oikawa smiled, flopping down beside Yaku and patting the space next to him. “Come on, Iwa-chan.”

“Better get comfortable, we’re going to be here a while,” Yaku told him with a crooked grin as Iwaizumi squeezed in beside Oikawa, who took the laptop to perch on his knees.

“And no pee breaks. We’re watching this straight through,” Oikawa added, and Iwaizumi groaned, dropping his head in protest. 

“That’s impossible.”

“Impossible for the weak,” Oikawa corrected. “Are you weak, Iwa-chan?”

“Sensible. I don’t want to break my bladder, and I have work in the morning.”

“Even more reason for you to watch this now! You never have time to sit down and relax! This will be good for you,” Oikawa insisted, slinging an arm around an unimpressed Iwaizumi’s shoulders. 

“So instead of sleeping, I’m supposed to believe that watching this is better for me?”

“Precisely! Trust me, you’re going to be soooo glad I forced you to do this.”

Yaku observed all of this with eyebrows that progressively rose higher and more suggestive with every sentence that shot out into the air. Eventually, he shrugged, took the laptop back and pulled up an online calculator, tuning out their argument. 

“You two may want to finish up your pointless bickering if we want to make any progress. Oikawa, we’re not going to get the full first season watched tonight.”

“Aw, why?”

“It’d take fourteen hours. And it’s already almost one. You tell me.”

“I should be sleeping right now,” Iwaizumi grumbled as Yaku opened up the first episode, placing a hand over Oikawa’s face. 

“Stop talking Oikawa. It’s starting.”

“I wasn’t talking!” Oikawa protested, voice muffled beneath Yaku’s tiny palm, but he settled in between him and Iwaizumi contentedly enough, taking back the laptop. 

“Okay, let’s start this!”

\-----

"I'm going to be exhausted, thanks to you," Iwaizumi mumbled, rubbing the corner of his eye hazily as the outro sounded, yet again. “Maybe not now, but this evening, I’m going to collapse.”

"It’s worth it though, isn't it?!"

Oikawa beamed at him, still as bright and upbeat as he was five hours ago. Yaku was strewn over the arm of the couch, apparently trying to sleep while upside down to escape Oikawa’s constant commentary.

"No. They overreact over everything,” Iwaizumi groaned out. “I have work in like four hours and I need sleep.”

"All of their reactions are pretty reasonable, excuse you!"

"Quit your bickering for a single second and let me think," Yaku yawned, massaging his closed eyelids with two fingers. Oikawa looked at them both disdainfully, shaking his head. 

"Both of you are so weak. One all-nighter isn't going to kill you. You're the ones being over-dramatic," he accused, staring at Iwaizumi in particular.

Iwaizumi stretched out both his arms over his head with a short groan, making sure to lightly hit Oikawa across the back of the head. "Stop being obnoxious. Some of us can't laze around all day." 

"I do not laze around all day! I am a highly responsible and productive individual!"

Iwaizumi snorted, clapping a hand over his eyes. "Yeah, right."

Yaku didn't even bother to hide his laughter, rolling around on the other end of the couch with his hands wrapped tightly around his torso. "Say that again, Oikawa, please. That was comedy gold."

"Shut up," Oikawa fumed, shutting down the lid a bit too forcefully. "And stop laughing, Yaku." 

“I’m going to go pass out,” Iwaizumi told them, standing up with a lengthy groan and stretching out his arms above his head. With  a content, airy sigh, his back cracked satisfyingly as a breeze swept across his lower back, his shirt having ridden up.

Yaku whistled, picking up a pillow and slamming it against Iwaizumi’s ass. “Stop showing off your body and go to bed already before Oikawa has a meltdown.”

“I will not!” Oikawa squeaked, but his face was reddening. He knew it was a bad idea to have Yaku in the group chat.

Iwaizumi spun around and grabbed the pillow out of Yaku’s hands, chucking it at his face point-blank. Yaku, exhibiting expert reflexes, thrust his hands out and sent the pillow halfway across the room in a perfect arc. 

“Damn,” Iwaizumi said, watching it settle on the floor. “You really are good.”

“Ta, I know.”

“Obviously! He played on the same team as me, after all,” Oikawa bragged, rolling onto his back with a yawn. “I can’t believe you won’t stay up to watch more. It’s only four hours.”

“Four hours I fully intend to spend sleeping.”

“Same. I’ll take the couch,” Yaku announced, pushing at Oikawa with his feet. “Go on and fuck off, Oikawa. You too, Iwaizumi. I want to be able to sleep without your irritating arguing in my ears. I have a headache as it is.”

“Sometimes I can’t believe that there’s people grumpier than you, but there you go,” Oikawa informed Iwaizumi, leaning forward and shutting the laptop resting on the coffee table.

“I don’t see you exiting this room,” Yaku growled at him, lunging for another pillow. 

“Okay, okay, god, I’m going!”

Oikawa grabbed Iwaizumi’s arm and hauled him out of the room, waving a goodnight back at Yaku.

“Um, won’t he need some blankets or something?” Iwaizumi asked as Oikawa bundled him into the bedroom. 

“He’ll sort himself out with some stuff from the hot press or whatever. He used to stay over all the time a few years ago, so he knows where everything is. Stop worrying so much!”

“I’m not worrying, I was just wondering,” Iwaizumi protested, sitting down on Oikawa’s bed.

“Get off my bed, I generously gave you the floor.”

Staggering over to the futon on the floor, Iwaizumi dropped himself flat onto it, groaning into the mattress. Oikawa gingerly outstretched a foot and prodded him in the side. "Stop being dramatic, get up and brush your teeth like a civilised human, if that's not too much to ask."

"Let me despair over the fact that I've wasted five hours of my life on a show aimed at fifteen year old girls first," Iwaizumi mumbled back, lifting his face ever so slightly off of the futon.

Rolling his eyes heavily, Oikawa dumped himself on Iwaizumi's lower back, pulling out his phone. "I'm not moving until you agree to use the bathroom first, otherwise you'd just bitch about how long I'd take. Also, I'm going to complain about Suga-kun to you, so there."

"What are you, four?" Iwaizumi questioned, trying not to focus on how nice Oikawa's body felt, being in contact with his. "I'm assuming things are all good between you and Sugawara then?"

"Yeah, I guess," Oikawa hummed out. "Before the party, he just apologised more, and I told him not to worry about it. End of. He didn't call me back once. It isn't a big deal."

"For a drama queen, you sure downplay things a lot," Iwaizumi observed, dropping his face back into the futon, his next sentence muffled and barely audible. "Get off my back. I think my butt's going numb."

"Are you willing to participate in an activity that us modern folks do?"

"Brushing my teeth?"

"Ooh, you even know what it's called! You're smarter than I thought, Iwa-chan."

Turning his head to the side to glower at Oikawa out of the corner of his eye, Iwaizumi pressed both palms against the ground and applied pressure. Oikawa's tiny, stifled squeak of surprise when they both began rising up off of the ground was very, very gratifying to Iwaizumi indeed.

"Iwa-chan! This can't be good for your back!"

"Then get off of me then," Iwaizumi grunted, his back rigid and arms quavering.

He felt Oikawa hastily scramble off his back, and, with a heavy sigh, Iwaizumi slowly dropped back to the floor, chest pressing into the soft futon. "Ugh, thanks."

"I-"

Oikawa's voice sounded off, and when Iwaizumi turned his face, frowning, to look at him, he jumped slightly and snatched up his pyjamas, clutching them to his stomach.

"Something up?"

"No, no! I was just thinking, I'd better use the bathroom first because...trust me, it'll work out better that way!"

Oikawa's face was slightly flushed, and Iwaizumi's frown deepened, flopping over onto his side to examine Oikawa more closely. His pupils were blown wide too, and even as Iwaizumi watched, colour crept up his neck and engulfed his rosy ears. "You sure nothing's the matter?"

Shaking his head feverently, Oikawa edged towards the doorway, keeping the clothes draped over his lower stomach and thighs close to his body. "Nothing at all! See you in a bit!"

He bolted then, leaving Iwaizumi incredibly confused. It wasn't about what happened earlier, was it? Oikawa wouldn't act like that if he was down or anxious. Iwaizumi had never seen him like that before, and it was like there was a missing slot in his brain  which corresponds Oikawa's mood to his appearance and actions. He should know what's running through Oikawa's mind when he looked...like that. With a deep inhale. Iwaizumi admitted to himself that Oikawa's expression, as if he was surprised, caught off guard, but pleased about it, ears turning pink to match his lips was quite....appealing.

Iwaizumi dropped his head back onto the soft cushioning on the futon, thinking about how irritatingly damn cute Oikawa could be without him meaning to be. He only intended to rest for a moment until Oikawa returned from the bathroom, but he found his eyelids slowly creaking closed, his mind growing dreamy, fumbling with half-formed thoughts. Before he could even realise how dangerously close to sleep he was getting, his mind had already shut off completely.

\---

Iwaizumi woke up an hour later screaming.

He realised he was screaming pretty quickly of course, and stopped abruptly, feeling his pulse pound in his ears and sweat drain down the sides of his neck, running down his back in tiny streams.

"Iwa-chan? Iwa-chan, what's wrong?"

Iwaizumi became aware, as his vision adjusted to the pastel early morning light, that his chest was heaving, and terrified pants still lingered darkly on his lips.

"Iwa-chan! Answer me!"

Blinking, Iwaizumi tried to gather himself together, rolling onto his side and exhaling heavily.

"Oikawa?"

His voice sounded weak and scared even to him. He heard Oikawa's sharp intake of breath, and knew he'd already pieced together a theory about what happened. Iwaizumi couldn't look at him, but he heard Oikawa scrambling out of his bed, and then there was a warm presence by his side, a warmer hand on his shoulder.

"Was it a nightmare?" Oikawa questioned softly, sitting cross-legged next to him.

Iwaizumi exhaled again, focusing on making his breaths less shaky.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

"I'm not going back to sleep, and you're not running off this time. What is it?"

Oikawa's voice was firm, and his fingers tightened around Iwaizumi's shoulder. Iwaizumi shook his head numbly, wishing the details of Oikawa's blood-splattered face would fade from his memory already, not wanting to recall the hideous morphing of his mother into Oikawa, both stone dead beside him in the front seat. He didn't want to describe the grating, clattering sound of the car folding in on itself, folding in mercilessly on his little brother.

"No," Iwaizumi choked out, and there were tears in his eyes he didn't remember creating.

Oikawa gazed at him for a moment, brown eyes ethereal and softer than ever in the ghostly light, then nodded.

"Okay. If you don't want to talk about it, I won't force you. But you're sleeping with me, okay? Whenever I had a nightmare, I used to crawl into my sister's bed, and it never bothered me when I was in there. So come on, Iwa-chan. Hop in."

Oikawa grasped Iwaizumi's wrist and tugged, and honestly Iwaizumi was too drained to care or resist as Oikawa dragged him into his bed, comfy blankets cascading over his damp body.

"I'm sweaty, sorry," Iwaizumi mumbled as he settled in beside Oikawa, mere inches away. If his dream hadn't been replaying over and over in his head constantly - his mind was apparently determined to imprint trauma in his memory forever - he would've been flustered, but right now, he needed comfort. Oikawa's lithe fingers slid through his short hair, holding his head as Oikawa's lips brushed against Iwaizumi's forehead, and Iwaizumi let him.  He allowed Oikawa to wrap his arms around his back, cradling his hips, and pull him nearer. He allowed his face to nestle perfectly in the crook of Oikawa's neck, his hands cradling his hips, for their legs to entangle, for their chests to press together so closely Hajime couldn't distinguish his own heartbeat from Oikawa's.

He didn't mind in the least.

Oikawa, concern drowning his chest, soon realised that Iwaizumi was asleep already, soft and even breaths brushing warmly against Oikawa’s burning skin. Holding him tighter, Oikawa dipped his face downwards, nuzzling the top of Hajime’s head without thinking about it, without any thought but the ones running around in his mind, urging him to comfort Iwaizumi, any possible way he could. 

Not for the first time, Oikawa thanked Yaku for being the heaviest sleeper he’d ever known. He didn’t want him bursting in here and demanding to know what happened, however guilty Oikawa felt for that thought. He wanted to be the one to reassure Iwaizumi, however selfish that sounded. Exhaling slowly, Oikawa pressed his lips to the top of Iwaizumi’s head, coarse strands of dark hair tickling his nose, the kiss lingering a lot longer than before. 

He wondered what Iwaizumi was dreaming about to make him react like that, so violently afraid it had scared Oikawa himself. Probably how his mother ended up in the coma, Oikawa guessed, and a bolt of pity shot into his chest. Had Iwa-chan always had nightmares like this, for six years on end, with nobody to turn to? 

Well, Oikawa decided firmly, that wasn’t going to happen again. 

Iwaizumi’s regular, steady breaths soothed Oikawa’s natural restlessness, and before he knew it, he was asleep and dreaming too. 

\------

Oikawa woke up next to a warm body, a familiar pain rattling around in his skull and an even more familiar heaviness in his limbs. He knew this familiar situation, the pattern he’d always fallen into. He'd done it again.

Before he thought, before he woke up fully, he slung an arm around their back and slurred out, "Iwa-chan." Then his wooly head registered that the back his arm was touching was not the wide, solid back of his roommate,  and the dark hair Oikawa could barely see through slitted eyes wasn't his coarse, short strands. He withdrew his arm hastily. What was he thinking? He and Iwa-chan weren't even together. Why did he think it was him? A particular intense throb broke through Oikawa's skull as he sat up, casting his clearing gaze over to the slumbering, short-haired woman beside him. Definitely not Iwa-chan. Swinging his legs carefully out of bed, Oikawa pulled on his boxers, pattering out into the hallway. The futon beside his bed was empty. Where was Iwa-chan, actually? 

"Iwa-chan?" He called out, softly so he didn't wake the nameless woman. Shuffling into the kitchen , there still was no sign of him, and he wasn't in the bathroom either. 

Nothing. No note, no text, absolutely nothing. All of his stuff was gone, and Oikawa felt the anxiety pile up more and more, leading him to harsh breathing and he tried to call Iwa-chan yet again, and yet again receiving no answer. 

“Please,” Oikawa breathed out, sucking back in a breath much too quickly. “Please, Iwa-chan.”

_ Stop. He’s just gone to work. _

The voice was shaky and unsure, and did nothing to ease the weight on Oikawa’s chest. 

_ He hasn’t. He’s left for good.  _

_ He wouldn’t! He wouldn’t do that to me! _

No answer.

Oikawa barely noticed his hand unfurling, his phone cracking against the floor as he slipped to his knees, one drumming mantra thundering through his mind.

_ He’s gonehe’sgone Iwa-chan’sgone he’ s g o n e _

The walls began caving in on him, collapsing, folding, crushing as Oikawa clutched at his own skin, suddenly unbearable to be in, dragging his nails down his bare arms. Silent sobs shuddered through his grieving body, but he didn’t cry. 

He couldn’t.

\---

Oikawa woke again, chest heaving and clammy skin drenched with sweat, and with no Iwa-chan beside him. 

On the other hand, there was no woman either. 

Half in a sleep-induced daze, Oikawa ambled around, forcing himself not to think of the worst. His nightmare wasn’t coming true. That was stupid. 

Iwa-chan wouldn’t have left. 

Oikawa felt a mild panic swell up in his chest as he checked each and every room again, even the closets. Anywhere he could be. Yaku was still completely passed out on the couch, and Oikawa couldn’t bring himself to wake him up, staring blankly at him with his fingernails embedded between his teeth, fearful theories wreaking chaos within his skull. 

Maybe he'd intended to leave yesterday evening when he'd seen Oikawa like that - aggressive and destructive - and could only get a new apartment now. Maybe everything he'd said had been a lie and all his caring actions faked. Maybe he was going to leave, no matter what Oikawa did. A crushing sensation swamped Oikawa, as he wandered around, his mild hangover almost completely forgotten about. It didn't even compare to the hurt in his chest.

Finding himself standing in the hallway, Oikawa stared blankly at the door, wondering if Iwaizumi had passed through there with the intention to never come back. 

_ Check his stuff, idiot. If his stuff is there, he’s probably just gone to work. _

Oikawa blew out a breath. Yes. Yes, his stuff. That would tell him if his dream was reality or not. And yet, his feet wouldn’t move. He was terrified, absolutely petrified of walking back into his room and seeing no trace of Iwaizumi at all, no proof that he had even been there at all.

The door swung open, and harsh breathing sounded in the hallway a second before Iwaizumi padded in, sweat dripping down his forehead. 

"Iwa-chan!" 

Oikawa launched himself at him, and Iwaizumi barely had time to drop the key in shock and reach out before Oikawa landed in his arms.

"I'm sweaty as hell, Oikawa." 

"Don't care," came Oikawa's muffled voice from Iwaizumi's neck. "I thought-"

He paused, the thought seeming stupid and illogical now Iwaizumi was here. 

"That I left?" Iwaizumi guessed. "Sorry, I didn't think you'd wake up so early. I just needed...to get out, I guess." His arms crept around Oikawa's waist a little more, his lips resting against the crook of Oikawa’s damp neck just a little easier. “I left a note on the kitchen table. Didn’t you see it?”

“I...didn’t check,” Oikawa muttered, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly stupid and ridiculous. He withdrew the hug, rubbing up the side of his arm.

“It’s fine. I should’ve told you, but I didn’t want to wake you.” Iwaizumi bent down to slip off his runners, scooping back up the key and giving Oikawa a sidelong glance. “You’re all sweaty.”

“I was too hot,” Oikawa replied, the lie sliding off his lips automatically. Straightening up, Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow doubtfully, but chose not to push any further. Sighing, Oikawa ran a hand back through his hair, gaze slipping over to the side. 

“Okay, I might’ve had a bad dream. But it’s nothing to worry about, truly. Are you making breakfast again? Actually, I’ll make it! You made it yesterday, when it was your birthday, so I’m making up for that, okay?”

Iwaizumi blinked, shaking his head slowly. “Great change of subject, asshole. What was the nightmare about?”

“I never said it was a nightmare. That’s such a strong word.” Oikawa waved a hand dismissively, shrugging the question off. No way in hell was he telling Iwaizumi his dream - that was basically straight-up admitting how needy and clingy he was. “Anyways, what do you want for breakfast? I can try anything,” Oikawa mentioned cheerfully, aiming a grin at Iwaizumi.

“Is that really a good idea?” Iwaizumi questioned, flicking some sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. Oikawa’s mind abruptly flipped gears, his gaze drawn to the way Iwaizumi’s bicep contracted under his dark skin when he raised it, how his breathing was steadying gradually but tiny pants were still drifting out from between his slick lips. 

“Yes!” Oikawa answered indignantly, placing his hands on his hips and forcing back his desire to wind his legs around Iwaizumi’s waist, to feel the harsh sting on his back as Iwaizumi slams him against the wall. “I can cook! I’ve lived on my own for ages!”

Iwaizumi still looked doubtful, scratching behind his ear absently as his eyes flowed off to the side, cheeks darkening. “How about I go have a shower, you go get dressed, and we’ll discuss it then?” 

Oh yeah, Oikawa realised with a quick glance down at himself. He was only dressed in boxers. The thought of Iwa-chan seeing him like this didn’t bother him in the slightest, though. Wasn’t as if it hadn’t happened before, and wasn’t as if Oikawa didn’t want it to happen again. 

“Sounds perfect,” Oikawa chirped as Iwaizumi brushed past him, heading into the bathroom. “Are you working today?” 

“Yeah.” 

Iwaizumi’s voice meandered out from the other side of the bathroom door, along with a quiet shuffle of clothing. He was probably undressing, Oikawa reasoned with a shiver worming up his spine. 

“What time?”

“Uh...ten, I think? I won’t be back until like nine, though.”

“That’s so long,” Oikawa complained, popping his head into the kitchen to glance at the clock. Ten to nine. Good, they still had some time left. He flaunted back into his bedroom, mentally running through the list of things he could cook successfully for Iwa-chan. The list wasn’t very long. In fact, it consisted of two items, total.

And one of them was risky.

Oikawa decided to take the risky option, hoping Iwaizumi liked boiled eggs. 

\---

Iwaizumi was just about to step into the shower when the neatly folded heap of his clothes vibrated. With a sigh, he crouched down and fished his phone out of his jeans, glancing at who it was. Kuroo. No surprise there.

 

**Kuroo:** did u do the deed yet

**hedgehog-chan:** No. 

**Kuroo:** whyyyyyy not

at this rate u 2 will be dead before one of u makes a move

**hedgehog-chan:** The right moment hasn’t come up yet - well, it did, but then Kageyama interrupted us. He’s also a bit...unstable, I suppose. I don’t want to mess with his head any more. 

**Kuroo:** is that why he almost hit poor kin i thought he was just drunk

**hedgehog-chan:** He was sort of drunk, but it wasn’t just that. 

**Kuroo:** wait hold the fuck up when did he see kageyama 

**hedgehog-chan:** When he went for a smoke and I went with him, remember?

**Kuroo:** why was he there

**hedgehog-chan:** Can I just ring you later? I need to shower, make sure Oikawa doesn’t burn down anything and get to work. 

**Kuroo:** sounds entertaining can i come over i want to watch oikawa burn down his apartment

**hedgehog-chan:** Oikawa is not going to burn down his apartment.

**Kuroo:** are u sure tho

**hedgehog-chan:** I’ll talk to you later, Kuroo.

**Kuroo:** why u dont love me like u love oikawa ill never know

 

Snorting, Iwaizumi lay his phone down and stepped into the shower before recoiling as a droplet hit his skin. He kept forgetting how high Oikawa turned up the temperature, god darn it. With a hiss, he reached in with his hand and dropped the dial what seemed like a full foot, sighing as the splashes up on his arm grew steadily cooler. 

Neither of them had mentioned what happened last night, which didn’t really surprise Iwaizumi. He was exhausted - unsurprising, since he went for a quick jog on three hours of sleep -  and he really didn’t want to talk about his dream to Oikawa. 

Or did he?

Oikawa knew he cared about him, right? It wouldn’t be a big deal if he told Oikawa about his nightmare, and then Oikawa would know why his reaction was so...borderline hysterical when he woke up. Why he was screaming in his sleep. 

Iwaizumi made a face, scowling as the water ran into the creases around his nose. He despised talking about his feelings with every fibre of his being, but he did want to know what Oikawa’s thoughts were, what his dream was about. He wanted to know Oikawa even deeper, know his every move and masked-over mood like the strings on the guitar, simply by the unsung sound, the feel. 

A harsh, high-pitched sound screeched through the air, and Iwaizumi almost cracked his skull (again) off the shower head as he spun around, yelling out, “Oikawa! Stop cooking, for fuck’s sake!”

He quickly stepped out and dried himself off, wincing all the time as the smoke alarm screamed on and on. What the hell was Oikawa doing that led to that? Within a minute, Iwaizumi and dressed and striding into the smoke-infested kitchen, where Oikawa was flailing with the windows, a saucepan waving around in one hand. 

“Iwa-chan! I swear, this wasn’t my fault!”

“Whatever you say,” Iwaizumi shot back as he rapidly pulled up a chair, scrambled up on it and yanked the battery out of the alarm. 

Thankfully, the noise ceased, and Iwaizumi turned to glare at Oikawa. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I-” Oikawa floundered, dumping the saucepan into the sink with a dismal clatter. “I tried to boil an egg. I don’t think I put enough salt in.”

Iwaizumi stared at him as he got down slowly, disbelievingly. 

“You mean you didn’t put in enough water.”

“Right! See, I might’ve put the water in at first but I forgot that it evaporates if you don’t put the lid on and then Makki messaged me so-”

“What the hell is going on and why  had my sleep been interrupted?” Yaku groaned out from the doorway to the sitting room, bleary-eyed and dressed in only his boxers. “Oikawa, even if it isn’t your fault, I’m blaming you.”

“It is Oikawa’s fault,” Iwaizumi confirmed.

“I made a simple mistake!” Oikawa protested. “Anybody could’ve made the same one!”

Iwaizumi sighed deeply, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, I suppose it isn’t as bad as that one time Kuroo let Bokuto near the pressure cooker. The lid ended up stuck in the ceiling for a week before Akaashi could get someone in to fix it.” 

“Seriously?” Yaku yawned, light brown hair sticking up in random patches. “What did Oikawa fuck up this time, anyway? Actually, I don’t care. Is there breakfast?”

“No,” Oikawa said sulkily. 

“I’ll make some coffee before I go,” Iwaizumi offered, dragging the chair back into place. “I’m assuming definitely not decaff?”

“Who do you think I am?” Oikawa sniffed out, folding his  arms across his chest. “I don’t do decaff.”

“Alright then, no decaff. Yaku?”

“Fuck no. Give me all that sweet, sweet caffeine,” Yaku deadpanned, collapsing into a chair. “God, I regret everything.”

“‘Kay. Oikawa, where’s your coffee?”

“Up there,” Oikawa pointed, lazily sliding into a free chair. “There’s no decaff there anyways.”

“Why’d you let me ask, then?” Iwaizumi grumbled, selecting some mugs and the jar of coffee.

“Because.”

“Asshole.”

“Oh, my god,” Yaku groaned, dropping his forehead down onto the counter. “Stop being gay and make my coffee already.”

“We’re not-” Oikawa’s tongue failed him, and he glanced away, glowering at Yaku, hissing out, “Shut up! I know you don’t have a filter when you’re tired, but at least try!”

“Does it matter?” Yaku complained, louder than Oikawa would like. “You’re gay, he’s gay, you’re both gay for each other, make out already, end of story. I just want coffee.”

Oikawa flung a hand over Yaku’s mouth, casting a desperate glance over to Iwaizumi’s back, who was currently spinning the spoon around in his hands, waiting for the kettle to finish boiling. His ears were a brilliant, glaring red.

“Shut up,” Oikawa whispered threateningly.  "Yaku! Stop it or I'll-"

"You'll what? Make out with him in front of me?" came Yaku's quieter, muffled voice. "Fine. I really couldn't give a shit."

"Coffee," Iwaizumi announced suddenly, sliding over two mugs onto the countertop, dodging through all the leftovers from the party. His face was completely red, and from the heated feel of it, Oikawa's was the same, possibly worse.

"Oh, thank god," Oikawa murmured, accepting the steaming cup gratefully.

Yaku grabbed the handle, tilted his head back and drained the entire mug in one go as Oikawa and Iwaizumi stared at him. It was amazing, how such a tiny body could consume something so damn fast.

"Ah, you make good coffee, Iwaizumi," he praised as he slammed the bottom down on the table, already looking more awake, probably more from the fact that he's had his coffee rather than the coffee itself.

"Thanks."

"Anyway, gotta get dressed and run now. Ta for letting me stay over Oikawa, but duty calls. " Yaku hopped down off the seat lightly and vanished into the sitting room, shutting the door behind him.

Oikawa instantly wished that he hadn't gone, or made those - those damn remarks, at the very least. He knew Iwa-chan and him were going to kiss, and he wanted to so badly it was like prodding a hole in his chest with a fire-poker, burning through his skin.

But he was uncertain, nervous.

He'd never lasted in a relationship for long, ever. Mattsun and Makki teased him about it, lightened the matter, but it was something Oikawa couldn't shake off. What was wrong with him?

Oikawa snorted out loud, shaking his head a fraction as he took a sip of coffee. (Yaku was right, it was good)

Did he want a list or?

He felt Iwaizumi's gaze on him - who was sitting silently across from him - and he glanced up, grinning at him brightly as soon as their eyes met. Iwaizumi scowled in fond response.

"Something up, Iwa-chan?"

"Just thinking about how quiet you are this morning," Iwaizumi commented thoughtfully, swirling the light brown liquid around in his mug.

"That's because I was mourning over the severe lack of sugar in this coffee," Oikawa lied through his smiling teeth. "Pass the sugar, would you?"

"No." Iwaizumi took a gulp of coffee, Oikawa's eyes briefly following the bobbing motion of his throat. "Your teeth are going to rot."

"Fine. Just fine," Oikawa huffed, clambering out of his seat. "I'll get it myself, then."

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, which Oikawa pointedly ignored, squatting down to tug the packet out of the cupboard.

"Listen, Oikawa..."

Oikawa felt the serious tone of Iwaizumi's voice strike his bones and resonate, sending alarms blaring in every cell of his body. He stood up slowly, unable or unwilling to make eye contact, gaze ghosting across the floor instead.

"Yeah?"

“What was your dream really about?”

Oikawa tensed, his shoulders riding up to his ears. “You know what, Iwa-chan? You haven’t opened your birthday presents yet.”

“Look,” Iwaizumi continued, utterly ignoring Oikawa’s attempt at changing the subject, “If you don’t want to talk about it, I can’t force you. Just keep in mind that if you want to, I’m here.”

“Okay,” Oikawa said, his voice sounding small and lost. 

Iwaizumi got up silently from his seat and outstretched his arms, inviting and homely. “C’mere, asshole.”

Hesitating, Oikawa stayed where he was for a heartbeat, but Iwaizumi didn't move a muscle either. Oikawa stared at him for a moment, saw the stubborn love in his eyes, and quickly closed the space between them, drawing his arms tightly around Iwaizumi's neck. Warm arms slid around his waist, and even warmer breath clung to the pale skin of his neck. Closing his eyes, Oikawa rested against Iwaizumi, having to stoop a little but still marvelling at how much this relaxed him, how much reassurance he received from a simple embrace.

"What was your nightmare about, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa whispered quietly.

It felt right to whisper.

Iwaizumi's arms tensed around his back, and Oikawa could tell he was trying his hardest not to allow his fingers to clutch at his skin, because he was failing.

"I dreamt about losing you," he said shortly, low voice gentle in Oikawa's ear. "That's all."

Oikawa's heart was apparently convinced that he was running a marathon, because there was so much energy flowing through Oikawa's limbs without warning that he didn't know what to do with. That's what had Iwa-chan in a state like that? Losing...him? Oikawa? Eyes wide, Oikawa drew back slowly, catching Iwaizumi's flustered cheeks as well as his gaze.

"I..." Oikawa began, words turning to dough in his throat, sticky and unmanageable. He swallowed once, twice, feeling Iwaizimi's hand stroke down his spine comfortingly. "I dreamt about losing you too - well, not as in you died, of course! I mean, you left here for some other, better place or person, and you just kind of disappeared with no explanation, so when I woke up and saw you were gone..."

Oikawa dipped his face down, shame clouding up his features.

"I'm sorry."

Iwaizumi's eyes broadened, his expression turning to one if absolute puzzlement. "For what? I had a similar dream, and I was just as muddled and distraught. There's no need to apologise."

"But I'm so needy and clingy and annoying as fuck and I always drive everyone away because I know they won't be able to handle me! I'm bitter and angry and a violent drunk and even my closest friends are becoming sick of me-"

"Oikawa, Oikawa, slow down," Iwaizumi cut in gently, his hand in Oikawa's hair now, threading through it tenderly. Oikawa's breathing had grown more rapid, panicky, and Iwaizumi patiently gave him a few seconds before he spoke.

"Oikawa, stop. You're overthinking this and analysing yourself far too harshly. Yeah, you're clingy and take up every spare moment of my time, but I don't mind at all, alright? Don't even try to drive me away, because it won't work. I'm used to your constant annoyance by now. And the thing about your closest friends not caring about you anymore is flat out bullshit. Sure, they've got partners now, and they'll take up a lot of their time, but they do still care about you a lot, got that?"

Oikawa blinked, and blinked again, and suddenly his eyes were watering.

"Iwa-chan," he whispered, hope coursing through his veins. "Do you mean that?"

Iwaizumi, cheeks darkening, glanced away, fingers curling up in Oikawa's hair.

"Yeah."

Oikawa couldn't believe it, believe him. He'd completely convinced himself, told himself over years, that he didn't deserve anyone. That they'd all leave once they actually knew him.

But Iwa-chan was still here, and he never lied.

Oikawa hugged Iwaizumi nearer, burying his face in his neck as a feeling, hot and intense, that he couldn't quite identify swamped his chest.

Affection?

No, no. Stronger than that.

Love.

Love?

The thought made Oikawa exhale in submission. He'd thought this before, hadn't he? On the steps outside the building last night. He'd even said it aloud. That he was falling in love with Iwa-chan.

Maybe he was further along than he thought.

Oikawa's ponderings were disrupted by Iwaizumi pulling away, detaching himself from him.

"I have to go."

"Oh." Oikawa's heart folded in on itself. He didn't want him to go. "Work."

Iwaizumi nodded shortly. "Yeah."

"I'll walk down with you," Yaku told him as he padded into the kitchen, fully dressed. "As payment for the coffee."

"Sure."

Iwaizumi and Yaku were fully ready to leave within seconds, and then they were in the hallway, Oikawa saying his goodbyes, Yaku telling him that he's going to drop in sometime, Iwaizumi telling him to stay out of trouble. It passed by so quickly, and now Oikawa was slumped on the couch, idly flicking through pointless channels as he thought.

Iwa-chan wasn't going to leave. He wasn't going to decide to go to a better friend or get sick of Oikawa's shit entirely.

Alright? A voice asked in Oikawa's head, and it sounded suspiciously like Iwa-chan.

"Alright," Oikawa answered back surely, the words dissipating easily into the air of the hollow apartment that didn't bother him quite so much anymore.

\---------

When Oikawa heard a key in the lock, he thought it might've been Suga or Mattsun, just dropping in to check on him. Then Iwaizumi, panting hard and gaze downcast, stepped through the doorway, and Oikawa began to feel uneasy. 

"Iwa-chan? Are you in between jobs or something? I thought you were working until nine." 

"I was."

Iwaizumi dumped the key in his back pocket and blankly brushed past Oikawa, drifting into the sitting room. Oikawa followed, growing worried as he watched Iwaizumi sit down on the very edge of the couch, bracing his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, fingers dragging back through his hair as he cradled his head in his hands.

"What's wrong?" Oikawa approached him softly, crouching down in front of him. 

Iwaizumi just shook his head numbly. 

"Talk to me," Oikawa persisted, beseeching Iwaizumi with large brown eyes, but Iwaizumi hardly looked at him. 

Oikawa outstretched his fingers and touched Iwaizumi’s wrist gently, resisting his desire to clasp his hand around Iwaizumi’s. “What happened? Iwa-chan, come on. You know you can talk to me. I’ve dumped more than my fair share of problems on you, after all! So stop being so silent already and tell me what’s up with you.”

Iwaizumi tensed up more, his fingers twitching around strands of his hair. Through his forearms, Oikawa could just about make out the lower half of his face, his teeth furiously stripping any loose skin from his lower lip. This was like before, Oikawa realised. Maybe Iwa-chan had a tendency to hide his eyes when upset, but his mouth always gave his emotions away.

“It’s about your mom, isn’t it?”

Iwaizumi nodded, a fraction of a movement that Oikawa barely caught, but it was enough to drench his chest in cold, icy water. He slipped up onto the sofa beside him, battling whether or not to push further or not. Licking his lips nervously, Oikawa quickly - quick, before he lost the courage - passed an arm around Iwaizumi’s shoulders, pulling him into his side. To his relief, Iwaizumi didn’t resist at all, instead leaning sideways and curling up into the comfort, Oikawa pressing a kiss to the top of his head by instinct alone. 

“It’s okay, Iwa-chan.”

I’m here. 

He thought he knew what the news about Iwaizumi’s mom was. He thought it was pretty clear, from his reaction.

“Hiroka-san called me.”

The sudden sound of Iwaizumi’s voice almost startled Oikawa, the warm body against his side shifting as Iwaizumi drew his hands down from his face. 

“She said my mom’s woken up.”

Oikawa was shocked into silence - for a second.

“Then what are you doing, moping around like this? That’s brilliant news! Come on, let’s go visit her!” Oikawa jumped up from the sofa, smiling brightly down at a serious-faced Iwaizumi. “Or have you already?”

“I haven’t,” Iwaizumi mumbled, dropping his head into his hands again. 

“Why not?”

“Oikawa, I...I haven’t spoken to her in six years. In those six years, I haven’t done anything. I didn’t go to college, I didn’t get a degree in anything, I’ve lived in a shitty neighbourhood and gotten into countless fights. I’ve never even had a proper relationship. What’s she going to think when I tell her that I’ve been doing nothing - fucking nothing - with my life?” 

Oikawa’s smile dimmed. “But-you had to work. You had to keep up with the hospital bills.”

“That doesn’t matter. I could’ve enrolled in an online course, kept up with studies during my free time, and I could’ve been making more in a better job by now. I’ve gotten fucking nowhere.” 

Iwaizumi inhaled, his breathing unsteady and shaky.

"I can't face her, Oikawa. She's going to be so ashamed of me." 

Oikawa’s smile vanished entirely, planting a hand on his hip and bending over to tap his index finger on the top of Iwaizumi’s skull. 

"This isn't the time for evaluating your life! Come on, get up and see your mom! She won't care about what you could've done. Trust me, she's going to be so proud! You literally kept her alive for years and managed to survive on your own, and make new friends too! Like me! You stood up for me, and now you're my best friend, so see how it all works out in the end? Don't worry about a thing, Iwa-chan, and get your shoes back on already. I'm calling Mattsun for a lift, and when I’m done, I expect you to be ready to walk straight out that door." 

Iwaizumi raised his head, blinking slowly up at him. OIkawa could almost see his words getting through to him, the fogginess of despair clearing from his eyes to be replaced with a kind of bright, wholesome anticipation. 

"But I've just come in, I am ready to-"

"No excuses! Get ready!" Oikawa flaunted his hand around, his grin returning once more to reassure Iwaizumi as he pulled out his phone. 

“Oikawa, I can’t get a lift from Matsukawa. I’ll go, but I’ll walk.”

The grin faded from Oikawa’s face as he frowned, pocketing his phone once more. “Why not?”

Iwaizumi sighed deeply, bending over again with his fingers dragging back through his hair. 

“I never told you how my mom ended up in a coma, did I?”

Oikawa blinked, the horrible realisation that he’d never asked washing over him. “No...you didn’t. But it’s okay, Iwa-chan! You don’t have to tell me. We’ll walk. No problem at all! Or, I don’t know, you could borrow my bike and I’ll run or maybe-”

“Oikawa. Shut up.”

Oikawa stopped, but his hand was combing out the side of his hair nervously. Raising his head, Iwaizumi offered him a small smile, sober but gentle, one that made Oikawa’s entire chest jolt with emotion, as he stood up, shrugging uncomfortably. 

“I’ll tell you later. Now, I want to see my mom.”

Oikawa nodded, the knots of anxiety clogging up his throat unravelling. Iwaizumi stepped closer, hitting Oikawa across the shoulder with his palm, as if to wake him up, knock the worried expression off of his face. 

“Let’s get going, asshole.”

\---

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry  
> i didn't want to end on something like that  
> but i had to  
> it's not too bad though right  
> also kisses better be happening next chapter or makki and mattsun are gonna have to step in  
> once again, thanks to all the kind people who comment, and I hope this chapter satisfies you <3  
> it didn't satisfy me  
> they didn't kiss  
> what the fuck amber  
> i'm very tired and im rambling in the notes im so sorry  
> but seriously they need to make out already i hate it when in fics the situation is perfect but then they don't for some reason or other and aGH IT'S JUST SO FRUSTRATING (and yet im doing it in my own fic.)  
> oh  
> and i'm working on a bday asanoya fic for a friend whose birthday was in june so like  
> late updates im sorry


	13. oh boy oh boy who's ready for some emOTIONS???!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no chapter summary this time the title says it all  
> alternate chapter name : ARE THEY GOING TO KISS OR NOT PART 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i loved doubting myself at every sentence of this!!!  
> i swear to god i was getting stuff done but then i found the one hour dank meme compilations on yt and well...yeah.. rip writing time.  
> also i changed iwa's brother's name because it was a surname and supposed to be temporary and i forgot to change it and basically I'm a mess and I'm sorry

 

 

Iwaizumi Misaki heard voices.

There was something not quite right, she judged instantly, and the voices were garbled and she could only  barely decipher a word here and there. Was she awake? Dreaming, perhaps? Struggling with her thoughts, incomplete and clumsily bumping into each other, she attempted to make some sort of sense, some sort of assessment as to where she was.

Soft, comfortable. Bed, likely.

And the voices?

See, that's what she needed to do. See who the voices were. And yet it was hard, so hard to open her weighty eyelids, that it took her a few tries. Just in time to see the backs of a few people dressed in scrubs - nurses? - stream out of the room, chatter fading away.

Come back, she wanted to call, but couldn't. She was in hospital, then. Why was she in hospital?

A man hastened past the doorway, and some sort of recognition, love, sparked behind her eyes and travelled down to her chest. That was - no, it couldn't be him. Too young, but the resemblance to her past lover  was so solid and obvious, he must be - must be -

Tears filled her eyes as the man, cheeks dark and eyes as memorable as the moonlight gripped her shoulders, bending over to hug her tightly, so tightly she thought she may pass out again.

"Mom...Mom. Mom, I knew you'd wake up - I sometimes thought that you wouldn't but Oikawa said you would and I believed him and you've...you've-" His voice became shaky and died off. There was dampness on her cheeks which she wasn't sure if it was from her own tears or...or

Her son's.

Hajime. It was Hajime.

His face was so much mature, so handsome, so different from the Hajime she recalled, but she knew her son. Every mother could always recognise her son.

Sons, she corrected herself. Two beloved sons. Hajime, Hajime and...

"Shou."

Shou. That was his name.

Hajime drew back from her slightly, shining green eyes dimming every second she watched. Now that her field of vision wasn't filled with him, she could see the entire room, and also another  man, tall and strikingly handsome, loitering by the end of her bed. He flinched as soon as her gaze trailed over to him, holding up his hands, slender and elegant. He was vaguely familiar - she knew him too, she was sure of it. But he wasn't -

Shou?

She hadn't realised she'd said the trembling words aloud until the familiar man, seemingly anxious, looked over to Hajime, who shook his head slowly, gaze falling to the ground.

"Mom..."

Where's my son?

This time the mental utterance didn't make it past her lips.

"Who's Shou?" The lanky one hissed, leaning over to her son, hand rising to graze against his elbow carefully.

Hajime's dropped gaze didn't budge, the slow noise of his finger scraping down the side of his jeans filling up the stifling silence. "My brother."

"You never told me you have a brother!"

There was a second, a split moment where the dark depth of silence could rival the ocean's.

"I don't."

She could see realisation creep over the other man's face - the other man, who wasn't her son, where was-

and then it hit her too, frantic dread engulfing her entire, weakened body.

"Hajime? Hajime, where's Shou? Don't-" her voice completely broke off, unused to the strain of speaking. Hajime wouldn't meet her eyes, which were pleading, begging him, praying that this wasn't what she thought it was. "What-" she tried again, and would've let out a growl of frustration if she could. Luckily, her Hajime seemed to get her meaning.

"There was a crash. Shou died, and you've been in a coma ever since."

His voice sounded dead, devoid and barren. The other man moved forward, standing just behind her son, his frame seeming even more lithe and tall compared to Hajime’s brash form. His arm outstretched, reaching slowly for Iwaizumi’s hand, but then he saw her shocked, widening eyes on him. His fingers curled back and his arm dropped quietly back to his side with a rustle of clothing.

"How-"

She couldn’t complete the question.

"Six years."

No. No, no, no, there was no way one of her sons could be dead. This had to a dream, all a terrible, mocking nightmare. She gasped, a hollow, harrowed sound, and suddenly there was the taste of bitter salt in her mouth, wet and sticky. She felt Hajime grip her hand, ushering some reticent words Misaki couldn’t hear, but she clung onto his hand with all the little strength she possessed, complete and utter despair drowning her. She’d lost one son and left the other for _six years_?! It simply wasn’t possible. Who had taken care of the - of the funeral arrangements? Of everything?

No, no, this wasn’t real.

The other man began backing out of the room, his expression borderline panicked. “Iwa-chan, I’ll go now - I really don’t think I should…”

“Please get Yachi,” came Hajime’s calm, measured tone. “I shouldn’t have told her everything straight away, and I think it’s too much for her to cope with at the moment.”

“Okay. Okay, I’ll do that,” was the quiet reply, quick footsteps following, along with the slow bang of the door swinging shut.

Then Hajime’s palm was on her cheek, stroking it gently, soothing, but it did absolutely nothing. Misaki knew she was near hysterics, but she couldn’t cease her rapid, coarse breathing, or halt the soft stream of tears flowing down her cheeks.

“It isn’t - Hajime, please…”

_Tell me this isn’t true. Tell me that your brother’s going to walk in that door any moment, or I’m going to wake up to prepare breakfast for you two, or something. Anything else than this._

Iwaizumi stayed silent, his thumb drifting across her cheek lovingly.

“It’s okay, Mom. Yachi will be here soon, and she’ll give you something to help you calm down.”

“Let me see Shou, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi shook his head thickly, numbly chewing on his lower lip. “Don’t think about it now. Try to relax, and-” His voice faded, and he bowed his head solemnly under her desperate gaze.

“ _Hajime_.”

She wasn’t sure why she was imploring him like this, as if he was some god who could return the dead, as if it would make a difference if she keep repeating his name, her son, both of her sons would be okay, it would all be fine. The door swung open, and the guy from earlier padded in, quickly trailed by a small blonde nurse. Misaki closed her eyes, feeling her lashes soak in the tears clinging to her skin. She didn’t fight - couldn’t fight - when the needle slid in gently, but purposely, into her vein, spilling out the numbing medicine. Allowing the sedative to tug her under the reaching darkness of sleep, she prayed that she’d wake up to a better reality.

\-----

Oikawa felt like he’d violated some inner circle of Iwaizumi’s life, and so he stuck by the doorway as Yachi slowly withdrew the needle, Iwaizumi still clasping his mother’s hand like he never intended to let go.

“She’ll wake up in a few hours,” Yachi told him. “I know it’s hard, but try not to mention anything that would upset her. Keep her distracted and let her process things in her own time.”

“I’ll try not to fuck up again,” Iwaizumi mumbled, leaning forward to brush his lips across her forehead. He squeezed his eyes closed, sighing deeply as he straightened up again. “She was awake for less than a minute, and I told her that her son was fucking dead.” Iwaizumi’s free hand clenched around the fabric of his jeans, exhaling shakily.

“Hey,” Oikawa interrupted cautiously. “You just didn’t want to lie to her. It’s inevitable that she would’ve found out eventually, anyways.”

“Sometimes you have to cushion the truth with patients,” Yachi mentioned. “It’s going to be hard for her, mentally and physically. Honestly though, it’s a miracle she woke up at all. She’ll be okay, Iwaizumi-san, don’t you worry. We’ll take care of her.”

Iwaizumi rubbed his forearm across his eyes heavily, voice thick. "Yeah. I know you will."

Yachi lay a petite hand on his arm, smiling up at him reassuringly. "And you'll do a great job of looking after her too, I know it."

Iwaizumi managed to work up a crooked half-smile, showing his gratitude. "I hope so."

Oikawa inhaled steadily, dithering between adding his voice to Yachi's support or...well, doing nothing. Yachi knew about these types of situations and what to do. Oikawa didn't, and he felt like a fish on the hull of a boat, floundering and completely at a loss of what to do.

"Don't worry! I know you'll do a great job, Iwa-chan!"

His voice rang out odd throughout the room, high-pitched and wavering, uncertain. Both Yachi and Iwaizumi rotated towards him, Iwaizumi frowning in suspicion.

"Oikawa, are you alright? You sound...off."

"I can tell that too," Yachi added, walking up to him and patting his shoulder supportingly. "Is something wrong, Oikawa-san?"

Oikawa's shoulders shot up, hunched in close to his neck despite Yachi's efforts. "You never told me that your brother died."

"I didn't see any reason why," came Iwaizumi's flat answer, body turning back to face his mother.

"That's not the point! You're supposed to tell me things, and I feel like I've emptied my soul out to you - well, maybe like three-quarters of it - and you didn’t tell me about your brother dying?"

"I never forced you to tell me anything."

"You said you wanted to know!"

"And I do."

"But why didn't you-?!" Oikawa broke out, blowing out a frustrated breath. "We had the entire walk here for you to talk me, and you didn't?!"

"You never said you wanted to know. Or asked, for that matter."

"I thought it would be obvious!"

"Well, then maybe I'm as dense as you say I am." Iwaizumi's gaze lowered, and for a moment Oikawa thought he was on the edge of tears.

“Oikawa-san.”

The tug on his sleeve took Oikawa by surprise, and in response to Yachi’s urgent hand gestures, he bent down. She cupped her small palm around his ear and began whispering.

“Oikawa-san, I don’t think...he likes speaking about his feelings. Hiroka-san told me that when his mother was first admitted, she offered counselling but he always refused. I think… I think that the fact he brought you here says a lot more than he’s actually saying, so to speak. Please don’t be too rough with him. He’ll tell you things in his own time, in his own way.”

Oikawa gazed at Hajime, his eyes shut tight, both hands encircling his mother’s palm, warm and sincere. His breathing was audible in the slow, draped air of the room, and that’s how Oikawa knew for certain that he was far from alright.

“Okay,” he breathed back softly, nodding at Yachi as he straightened up from his stooping. “I get it, I think.”

He understood, he thought. He shouldn’t be bitter over the fact Iwa-chan held private things back about his life, just because Oikawa dumped all his shit onto him. Plus, didn’t he have enough on his plate already without Oikawa hassling him? He should just take a step back and support him. Yeah, that sounded good.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling down at Yachi, who was sporting a worried expression, but her expression relaxed as soon as she saw Oikawa’s.

He stepped over to stand beside Iwaizumi, dragging the one chair in the room with him and placing it behind him. “If you’re gonna be there all day, Iwa-chan, you might as well sit down.”

“Thanks.” Iwaizumi opened his eyes and sat down blankly, mechanically. His gaze never wavered.

“Are you hungry? I could get some shitty junk food or coffee for you,” Oikawa offered, placing a hand on his shoulder, but Iwaizumi shrugged it off like a troublesome fly.

“Stop being nice out of pity. It’s weird.”

Taken aback, Oikawa blinked, a feeling he really didn’t like swamping his chest. Was that really what Iwa-chan thought? That he was being nice out of pity?

“What are you talking about? I’m naturally kind and generous!”

“This is what I was afraid of,” Iwaizumi said quietly. “You treating me differently because of this. Just be an asshole like normal, alright?”

Oikawa’s fingers flew up to his hair, his feet shuffling back of their own accord. He fucked up, didn’t he? He was just - just

“I was trying to be supportive!”

“I don’t want your support,” Iwaizumi told him dully. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not!”

Both Iwaizumi and Oikawa spun towards Yachi in surprise, eyes broadening. Her chin was tilted up determinedly, her cropped blonde hair swaying back behind her ears.

“You can’t possibly be fine after losing your brother like that. I’ve seen a lot of people who bottle things up like you, and that’s why Hiroka-san’s so worried about you all the time! Oikawa’s trying to help you, can’t you see that?”

Iwaizumi abruptly sprung to his feet, hitting the chair with the backs of his knees and sending it skidding backwards a few inches.

“I told you, I don’t need help. I’ve managed for six years on my own, and I can handle this too. On my own.”

He let go of his mother’s limp hand, his fingers curling into fists around the heavy denim of his pants as he strode past Oikawa and Yachi, stubbornly refusing to make eye contact with either of them.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa called out, spinning to face Iwaizumi, but the syllables were barely falling from his lips before Iwaizumi’s back disappeared throughout the doorway.

“I think-” Yachi’s voice was small, “-that maybe I shouldn’t have done that.”

Oikawa couldn’t say anything, his lips and throat stuck up with the thickest glue imaginable - the horrible, horrible sensation of the knowledge somebody he cared deeply about was angry at him, genuinely mad. The worst part was that Oikawa had tried. He tried, and...it was the wrong thing to do? Why was Iwa-chan so against getting help? Was it because of Oikawa? It was probably his fault. He shouldn’t have started to treat Iwa-chan differently. Maybe he was right, and maybe Oikawa had begun to feel pity for him, accidentally insulted him in the process. Was that it? Oikawa felt that it was.

“I have to get back to working,” Yachi said softly, patting Oikawa’s back. “I’m so sorry. I thought that maybe it would help if I said something, but...it doesn’t appear to have worked. I’m really sorry, Oikawa-san.”

“It’s okay.” Oikawa brushed out his fringe, fingers moving quickly and jerkily with agitation.

_It’s my fault._

“Maybe...you should talk to him? Later?” Yachi ventured, but then her face dropped. “Actually, my suggestions haven’t worked out too well….”

“No, no,” Oikawa reassured her without hesitation. “It’s okay, I’ll take that on board. Thanks, Yachi.”

“Good luck, Oikawa-san.” Yachi offered him a shy smile before padding out of the room.

Oikawa watched her go, and a strange sense of envy rose in him. She had something to do, she knew what to do, she knew exactly how to do it. Shifting from foot to foot, Oikawa glanced over at Iwaizumi’s mother, then glanced away again awkwardly. It felt weird, being alone with her. It wasn’t exactly how he’d imagined being left alone with his mom for the first time - okay, maybe he hadn’t imagined that scenario at all, but this was definitely how he didn’t want it to go. He knew that much.

Maybe he should go after Iwa-chan?

What if he only angered him more?

Launching himself into a lap of nervous pacing, Oikawa gnawed on his lower lip, casting an uneasy gaze over to the woman in the bed every so often. Maybe he should go home and wait for Iwaizumi to come back. But would he return to their apartment or here? Oikawa had a feeling he wouldn’t be long. Hell, if he knew his mother was finally okay and awake after years, he’d be unwilling to leave her for an instant, as much as Oikawa disliked his own mother. Iwaizumi, on the other hand, seemed to have a much, much better relationship with his. And if he left now, when was Iwa-chan going to come home? He didn’t want to leave things like this. Exhaling deeply, Oikawa sat down and folded his legs underneath him, winding a strand of hair around his finger.

He’ll wait here.

\---

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure where he was going.

Actually, fuck that, he had no motherfucking idea, but he was going somewhere, anywhere, and that was the important bit. His breath rasped up and down his throat, the serrated edges of torn-back tears scraping the inside as he ran.

He didn't actually give a fuck where he was going, in fact. His head throbbed, along with his eyes and throat, as if grieving the fact that he hadn't cried yet, hadn't uttered words of thanks to the higher power every religion was convinced must exist. His mom was awake. He should be by her side every spare second he had, should be screaming praise up to the skies, but...for some reason, his brother was all he could think about. Hearing his mother call out for him like that ripped wide open an old, old scar across Hajime's heart afresh, like the crash and screech of sirens happened yesterday.

He needed time to process this. Alone. No matter what Yachi told him or what Oikawa tried to do.

Suddenly, Iwaizumi stopped in his unbidden tracks, and looked around, then realised where he was. Oikawa's street. His apartment was right over there. Oikawa, Oikawa. Since when did his life revolve around Oikawa so much? Since when he did he automatically return to Oikawa's home when he was upset? Because he wanted to see him, and although his conscious mind told him he wasn't there, his subconscious insisted that he was, he was there, quick with comfort and reassuring words. Iwaizumi slowed down, and for a moment he was tempted to head up the stairs, wait for Oikawa to come home.

Since when did he start relying on Oikawa's constant presence in his life?

Gritting his teeth, Iwaizumi put his head down and jogged lightly past his apartment, attempting to ignore the ache in his chest. Sure, he liked Oikawa, which would explain it, mostly. It wasn't a big deal, though. He'd liked other people before.

So why was Oikawa taking up so much more space in his brain than the others had?

Why was he the only one Iwaizumi wanted to be with right now, despite being annoyed at him?

Iwaizumi slowed down, tilting his face up towards the sun, filtering in through his inky eyelashes, light slanting across his face like rough strokes of an artist's brush. His heart felt like it was being dragged down into his stomach, sinking into acid and gradually being dissolved.

Shou dead. His mom waking up. And the sudden strengthening of his feelings for Oikawa.

It was an onslaught, all pounding against his exterior at once, and Iwaizumi didn't know which one to tackle first.

Maybe Yachi was right, and he should allow Oikawa to help him.

The thought sent a strike of pride prickling relentlessly through Iwaizumi's limbs, stubborn and unyielding. No. He could handle this himself. Oikawa had enough to cope with without having to look out for Iwaizumi too.

Alright.

Iwaizumi physically nodded, and then he lowered his head, rotating around to map out the shortest way back to the hospital. He wanted to be back when his mom woke up, however difficult it would be to see her, struggling with movement and the fact that one of her sons were dead. He wanted to be there for her. Right now, he decided, she was priority. Oikawa could wait, work could wait.

As if reading his mind, his phone vibrated.

 

 **the perfect one:** iwa-chan? where are you?

 **iwa-chan:** I'm coming back now. Will you still be there? I think we should talk.

 **the perfect one:** of course

talking is one of my many wonderful talents after all

 

Iwaizumi couldn't help smiling at the screen for a second before dumping it back into his pocket and heading back at a steady jog.

\-----

Oikawa was never so relieved to see Iwaizumi, shoulders heaving up and down, walk through the doorway. He started forward before he recalled that he couldn’t simply fling himself at him like usual - Iwa-chan was mad at him, remember? Even if he didn’t come across like he was in text, Oikawa still had to figure out how to act around him. He ended up staying silent and motionless as Iwaizumi stepped over to him, drawing his arm across his forehead to get rid of some sweat droplets.

“Oikawa?”

“That’s me,” Oikawa answered, trying to sound as bright and upbeat as normal.

His attempt fell dismally flat, and both of them heard it. Wincing, Oikawa averted his eyes and waited for Iwaizumi’s response.

“I just want you to treat me like normal, alright? That’s all there is to it. So you can look at me now.”

Oikawa slowly lifted his gaze again, chewing nervously on his lower lip. Iwa-chan didn’t appear to be angry at him, so it was all okay, right?

“Oikawa, get that worried expression off your face. I’m not mad at you. I know you were trying to help.”

Exhaling, Oikawa met Iwaizumi’s eyes, and he smiled shyly, outstretching a hand to tap Oikawa’s forehead affectionately. “You’re overthinking things again.”

“But I want to help you, and I don’t know how,” Oikawa said quietly, dropping his gaze to the floor.

“You don’t have to worry about me. Look after yourself.”

Iwaizumi’s words were simple and sure, and if it had been any other situation, Oikawa was certain he would’ve accepted them without question.

“Don’t you need some help, even a little?” Oikawa pushed, eyes bright, stimulated with determination. “Come on, Iwa-chan. You can’t possibly deal with all this yourself! I know you break down sometimes and -”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi cut him off, voice stern. “I understand what you’re trying to say, and I appreciate it, but what do you think I’ve done for the past six years? I’ll be fine.”

Oikawa’s lips tightened, the words seeming all too familiar and unwelcoming to his ears. That’s what he used to say to his friends, even if he was tottering on the very edge of another breakdown. Threading a hand back through his hair, Oikawa tried to decide between pushing it further or leaving it slip by. If he kept insisting though, would they have a fight? Oikawa’s chest constricted. He didn’t want that.

“Okay!” was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

 _Selfish_ , his mind whispered.

Shut up, Oikawa willed it as guilt crashed through him. I’ll be there for him if he needs me.

Iwaizumi exhaled in relief, outstretching his arms slightly awkwardly. “Are we good then?”

“Of course, Iwa-chan. I couldn’t stay mad at such a cute face!”

“Whatever,” Iwaizumi muttered as Oikawa half-fell into his arms thankfully, both arms winding around Iwaizumi’s neck tightly. Even though Iwaizumi was shorter than him, Oikawa’s stature fit perfectly against his, and with big arms around his waist and his own arms buried in the short strands of dark hair, their hugs were the most comfortable Oikawa had ever felt in his life. It just worked.

“What are you going to do now?” Oikawa asked, head tilting to rest on his upper arm, which in turn was settled on Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

“Probably stay here until she wakes up again. I need to talk to her about...everything, really. Shou, what I’ve done for the past six years, stuff like that.” Iwaizumi hummed thoughtfully, his hands rubbing circles on Oikawa’s slightly stooped back.

“Well,” Oikawa started brightly, pulling back from the embrace. “Since you just happened to ask me on the one day I’m free this week, I accept your offer of keeping you company while you wait!”

Iwaizumi frowned. “I didn’t ask you anything.”

“No need to be bashful, Iwa-chan! It’s no problem, you know, to spread out my presence among all my adoring admirers.”

Oikawa winked, and Iwaizumi scowled deeply at him to cover up the smile that sprang onto his lips of its own accord. This is what he was talking about, what he’d finally figured out during their - very brief - disagreement. Oikawa was there, even when he didn’t ask him to be. He just was.

“Fine, but we’re getting food first. I’m starving, and she probably won’t be awake for another few hours.”

“Sounds great!” Oikawa frowned as they began moving towards the doorway, recalling something. “What about your work though?”

“I already rang them to tell them I won’t be in for a few days,” Iwaizumi explained, holding the door open for Oikawa to sweep through.

Oikawa turned to him as he followed, widening his eyes dramatically. “Iwa-chan taking a break from work when he isn’t gravely injured? I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Didn’t exactly have a choice this time, asshole.”

"That asshole was uncalled for," Oikawa complained. "I made a fair and truthful point. You're always working."

"Again, it's not like I have a choice," Iwaizumi pointed out.

"Couldn't you take out a loan or something?"

"And pay the interest on top of that? No thanks."

"Ugh, you're so cheap," Oikawa whined.

"I'm sensible."

"Cheapskate!"

Iwaizumi flicked at Oikawa's ear as they strolled out of the hospital into the glaring noon sun, sweeping the broad pavements and crushed buildings in a soft haze. Iwaizumi raised a hand to shield his eyes as he turned to Oikawa, questioning. "Where'd you want to eat? We could also just buy some ingredients and go back to your apartment. That'd be cheaper."

Oikawa tilted his head to the side slightly, quizzically, as he thought, his golden eyes bright and almost glowing in the afternoon light. It skewed across his entire face, highlighting his curvaceous, high-arched mouth perfectly, revealing every blemish on his smooth skin that Iwaizumi adored so much, the lighter stripes of brown running down his fringe even more evident. Iwaizumi felt his heart throb painfully, and he glanced away, dropping his hand down to his side. He could shield himself from the sun, but not from Oikawa's highly attractive face, apparently.

"I thought you said you weren't cheap, Iwa-chan."

"I never said that. I just said I was sensible," Iwaizumi mumbled, gaze angled downwards as he scuffed at the cement sidewalk with his shoe. "Look, just tell me what you want to do, alright?"

"Why are you grumpy all of a sudden?" Oikawa asked, seemingly puzzled.

"I'm not grumpy," Iwaizumi muttered back, trying to ignore how Oikawa drew closer to his side, curious. Well, maybe he was a little. Only because he found Oikawa so handsome it actually pissed him off at times.

"Yes you are!"

"I'm not."

"I know what it is."  

Iwaizumi's head snapped up at the sound of Oikawa's self-satisfied voice, meeting a smirking Oikawa's gaze with barely masked alarm. If he copped onto just how hot Iwaizumi found him, he would never, ever, ever hear the end of it.

"I bet it's because you're hungry, right? I'm right, aren't I? In that case, let's go!" Looping his arm through Iwaizumi's, Oikawa dragged him down the road enthusiastically, Iwaizumi groaning out protests. "Do you even know where you're going?"

"Nope! Shur be grand!"

"What was that? English?!"

"It's what the Irish say when they've no fucking clue what they're doing, and I thought it applied pretty well here."

“How the fuck do you know-” Iwaizumi sighed deeply, cutting himself off. “Nevermind. How about deciding on where we’re eating?”

“Oh, so we are eating out now?”

“I guess so, since you’re kind of dragging me towards where all the restaurants are and away from your apartment.”

“Our apartment, Iwa-chan. You live there too, remember? Also, I’m craving sweets,” Oikawa announced, and, spotting a nearby supermarket across the street, promptly veered rapidly towards it. “I need sugar.”

“Your metabolism must be sky-high,” Iwaizumi muttered as he pulled Oikawa back from being run over by a truck blasting past. “Jesus, be careful!”

“Says you, who ends up in the hospital every other week,” Oikawa huffed as they crossed the road, thankfully without any near-misses this time. “And the path to a body like mine is a secret, I’ll have you know.”

“What, alcohol and sugar?”

“Throw in some cigarettes and coffee and you’ve got it!”

“Sounds incredibly healthy to me,” Iwaizumi deadpanned, allowing Oikawa to tug him down the aisle by the wrist.

“Well, we’re all going to die anyways, so I might as well enjoy myself,” Oikawa shot back, eyes gleaming as he spotted the milk bread. “Hell yes, there’s enough rest for a full meal!”

“You do not eat milk bread as a main meal.”

Oikawa glanced up innocently, his arms already overflowing with the small packages. “Why not?”

“Christ,” Iwaizumi sighed out, scooping up some packets from Oikawa and shoving them back onto the shelf. “You’re not buying all of those. I’m going to bring you somewhere else so you don’t die young of a heart attack.”

“But healthy food is so blaaaaaaaand,” Oikawa complained, clinging onto the last few packets for dear life as Iwaizumi tried to pry them out of his grasp.

“It’s really not - Oikawa, let go, for god’s sake-”

“No!”

“What are you, two? Let go. I promise I’ll make something just as tasty as milk bread when we get back home.”

Oikawa’s tense arms loosened somewhat, squinting at Iwaizumi suspiciously. “Nothing can be as good as milk bread. Definitely not something healthy.”

“Look, I’ll try my best,” Iwaizumi negotiated, fingers clasping onto the plastic wrappings. “Just give me the rest of them and we can get food then.”

“I’m keeping one.”

Oikawa’s voice was stubborn and showed no indication of any intention to back down. Iwaizumi sighed.

“Fine. One. For after dinner.”

“Iwa-chan! Why are you so mean to me?”

“I’m not mean to you. Now come on, I’m still hungry.” Iwaizumi grabbed Oikawa’s wrist and started tugging him back down the aisle, Oikawa pouting all the time.

“Well, if you’re hungry, let me buy you a milk bread!”

“I don’t like them.”

Iwaizumi finally made some progress, thanking fuck that the store was mostly empty.

Well, until somebody heard the disturbance and popped his unwanted, dishevelled head around the corner. Iwaizumi was about to get Oikawa to the cashier examining her nails when a voice rang out through the shop.

"Yo, Iwaizumi, my man! I see you're with Captain Shitsticks again!"

"Shitsticks? The hell is that supposed to mean?" Oikawa challenged, stomping over to Kuroo, who was leaning leisurely against a shelf full of assorted condoms, grinning. Sighing, Iwaizumi reached out a hand and yanked Oikawa back by the collar of his shirt before he launched himself at the overgrown sweeping brush.

"Nice to see you too, Kuroo. How've you been keeping?"

"Good, good. Kenma and I have been-" Kuroo cut himself off, looking around with a heavy sigh. "I've fucking lost him again, haven't I?"

"Lost who? Kenma?" Iwaizumi questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeaaaaaaah..." Kuroo drawled, glancing around with a lot more concern than he'd have liked to show. "He was over there, and then we saw you two - actually, it could be because he hasn't met shitbag over here before..." Kuroo dissolved into mumbling as he pulled out his phone, firing off a quick text.

"Why don't you just call him?" Oikawa asked.

"He doesn't answer calls. Dunno why, but he always answers texts, so it's good."

Less than thirty seconds later, Iwaizumi spotted a half-dyed head round the corner ahead of them, and Kenma himself drifted down to greet them. His small, unassuming stance was further amplified by his sloppy posture, but the shine in his sharp eyes was far from sloppy.

"Knew you'd come down if I told you that." Kuroo grinned, pleased with himself.

Kenma ignored him. "Hello."

"Hey, Kenma. How have you been keeping?" Iwaizumi asked, but Kenma didn't reply. Him and Oikawa were much too busy squinting at each other, as if sizing each other up.

"He's tiny," Oikawa said finally.

Kenma's gaze flickered around Oikawa as if he didn't exist after a moment. "This guy is weird."

Kuroo nodded his utmost confirmation. “He is indeed.”

"I can already tell that he's too good for you," Oikawa announced right after, straightening up.

"Hey, I don't judge Iwaizumi's taste in...friends." Kuroo grinned, moving to smack a palm against the back of Iwaizumi's jeans, successfully slapping his ass.  In answer to Iwaizumi's glower, Kuroo raised a hand and gave him a cheery wave, shooting him a finger gun at the end. “How’s things, babe- or should I say ‘Iwa-chan?’”

Oikawa’s eyes narrowed, and he pouted childishly, slinging an arm around Iwaizumi’s neck pointedly.

“Only I can call Iwa-chan ‘Iwa-chan.’ You don’t have the right.”

“And what gives you the right?” Kuroo leered in closer, his canines becoming more and more evident as his wicked grin grew larger.

“Because I’m obviously Iwa-chan’s favourite friend,” Oikawa answered stubbornly, looking at Iwaizumi for backup. “Aren’t I?”

“I don’t like either of you,” Iwaizumi stated with a blank face.

“See? He hates me less! I’m the favourite!”

“Everything’s fine,” Iwaizumi responded, in reply to Kuroo’s earlier question, totally ignoring Oikawa’s groan of protest. “You?”

“Oh, I’m perfect,” Kuroo told them, propping an elbow up on Kenma’s shoulder and glancing down at him. “Better than perfect, in fact.”

Kenma looked up at him, golden eyes blinking slowly. “Good.”

“What about you, little one?” Oikawa questioned, leaning in towards Kenma, who didn’t flinch at all. “How are you, having this ridiculous man as a boyfriend?”

“I’m okay, I guess. He’s alright.”

“See?” Kuroo grinned happily. “He said I’m alright!”

Oikawa raised an eyebrow, one hand lifting to grasp the side of his hip, settling against Iwaizumi’s side quite comfortably. “That’s high praise for you. Iwa-chan, what do you think of me?”

“I already told you, I don’t like you,” Iwaizumi said, turning his head to stare at Oikawa steadily.

Oikawa frowned unhappily, pouting as he withdrew his arm from around Iwaizumi, crossing his arms and rotating away from him. “In that case, I don’t like you either. You’re grumpy.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and pulled at Oikawa’s shoulder, making him spin around to face him. “I’m joking, dumbass.”

“Iwa-chan having a sense of humour? That’s new.”

Oikawa shot a cheesy, wide grin at him, and Iwaizumi smiled back in relief, lifting a hand to touch Oikawa’s arm gently. He should know by now that Oikawa knew very well that every insulting dig was not serious. Kuroo rolled his eyes and made a gagging noise, even as his fingers slid casually down the back of Kenma’s silky hair.

“Mate, kindly take your gay selves elsewhere before I actually puke.”

Kenma made a face and started to move away from Kuroo, who pulled him back promptly with a quick reassurance.

“I promise to aim at Oikawa if I vomit, babe.”

“Pet names? Really?” Oikawa spat out, his face a perfect image of disgust. “And you’re saying us smiling at each other is too gay for you.”

“Hey, I’m new to this,” Kuroo defended himself as his gaze switched to Iwaizumi, whose face was slowly reddening, apparently from the earlier gay comment. Kuroo raised an eyebrow as Iwaizumi shoved his hands into his pockets, pointedly looking away and seemingly to try and pretend his cheeks weren’t turning into the sun.

“Man, you really are whi-”

Iwaizumi leaped forward and his palm was pressed hard over Kuroo’s mouth before he could say any more, Oikawa blinking in mild confusion.

“Oikawa, I think it’s time we go. We have your damn milk bread,” Iwaizumi said as Kuroo tried to wrench his mouth free, muffled protests filling the air, likely something about it being his duty to stop idiots being idiots.  Kuroo finally broke free, managing to speak a few words.

“He really lik- ow!”

Iwaizumi kicked him in the shin, hard, effectively cutting him off.

“Meanie,” Kuroo complained, bending down to rub his shin as Iwaizumi glowered at him. “Why am I being punished for speaking the truth?”

“What truth?” Oikawa asked brightly.

Kuroo couldn’t tell if he was joking or was actually that thick.

“The truth-” Kuroo started, straightening up and slinging a hand casually around the back of his neck. “Of-”

Iwaizumi’s glare increased in its intensity, and Kuroo grinned.

“Of you being a douchebag and not deserving to know the truth. Obviously.”

Oikawa’s expression soured.

“Then again,” Kuroo continued, ignoring  Iwaizumi’s mildly threatening hand gestures, “if you were smart enough, you should’ve figured it out for yourself by now. As I said, it’s fucking obvious.”

“Iwa-chan, can I punch him?”

“Go right ahead.”

“Whoa, whoa, hold up!” Kuroo held up his hands as Oikawa stepped forward. “Why’re you all attacking me? I didn’t do shit!”

“You did,” Oikawa and Iwaizumi accused him at the same time, if not for the same thing.  

“I feel underappreciated here,” Kuroo sulked, catching Kenma by his slender shoulders and maneuvering him between him and Oikawa, like a shield. “Save me, Kenma.”

“Kuroo’s actually trying to help you, you know,” Kenma muttered, gazing up at Iwaizumi pointedly.

Iwaizumi shifted from foot to foot, shrugging with a deep sigh. “I know, but I’d rather take things at my own pace.”

Oikawa’s neck was working overtime, pivoting his head from person to person, his expression growing more and more infuriated with every sentence he didn’t understand uttered.

“Will somebody inform me about what’s going on here?” Oikawa demanded, one hand grasping his hip as he glared at them, Kuroo in particular.

Kuroo stared blankly back at him and, for once in his life, stayed silent.

“Uh, anyway, I think we should leave,” Iwaizumi mentioned, trying to be casual but his voice came out as bordering on panicking. Which really wasn’t inaccurate at all. “Kuroo, great to see you. You too, Kenma. Now let’s go.”

He grasped Oikawa’s arm and began hauling him over to the cashier, Kuroo giving him an amiable, self-satisfied wave, and Kenma sending them off with a polite moment where he held eye contact. Kuroo sighed, throwing a casual arm around Kenma. “We’d better go too. The things you wanted aren’t here, are they?”

“Nah.”

As they left, Oikawa glanced back over his shoulder, stuck out his tongue, and winked at Kuroo, throwing up a quick peace sign. Kuroo stopped in his tracks, utterly lost for a single instant before it clicked. That bastard. He scowled bitterly at Oikawa, who mimed slapping Iwaizumi’s ass in response, smirking widely. Iwaizumi’s head turned, and Oikawa quickly straightened out his expression, resuming his amiable chatter flawlessly.

“Told you he was weird,” Kenma said as Kuroo’s expression reached new heights of pissed-off.

“He knew what we were talking about all along, didn’t he?” Kuroo sighed out. “Man, I was totally taken in by his dumb act.”

“I thought you knew he was far from dumb.”

“No! I’ve only known him for like…” Kuroo frowned. “A...month? I met him the day after Iwaizumi found him.”

Kenma looked up sharply, gaze holding a clear question. “They only know each other a month?”

“Yeah? I think so? Give or take a couple of weeks, the author isn’t good at keeping track of time.”

“Hm.” Kenma dropped his face as they walked, reverting to his silent pondering mode that Kuroo was very familiar with indeed. “That’s surprising.”

Kuroo yawned, stretching out his arms and linking his hands together across the back of his skull. “Yeah, they seem way too comfortable around each other for a month don’t they?”

“It’s relative to how much time they spent together in that month.”

“Dunno about that, but every time I’ve seen Iwaizumi since then he’s with that shithead.”

“Then it’s not that strange.”

Kenma leaned against Kuroo’s side, relaxed now that he’d reached a sensible conclusion.

“You’re probably right,” Kuroo agreed. “It’s only logical that they’d grow attached to each other. I literally have no fucking idea how Iwaizumi hasn’t gotten at least a little irritated at Oikawa, though. If I had somebody that attention needy around me constantly I’d be driven mad. Or punch him in the face.”

“Bokuto?”

“I’m not around him twenty-four seven. I love him n’ all, but that’d be way too exhausting.”

“I’m sure he feels the same way.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kuroo questioned, untangling his fingers and bending down to Kenma’s level curiously, a challenge evident in his gleaming eyes.

“Nothing.”

Kenma remained apathetic.

“Well, if you won’t tell me, I’ll have to do something about that, won’t I?” Kuroo grinned, wriggling his fingers in the way Kenma always longed to do before buying a new console. He attacked a second later, fingertips diving up underneath Kenma’s sides and grazing down his sides rapidly. Gasping, Kenma squirmed away, but Kuroo followed him, cackling happily.

“What was that about me being exhausting, babe?”

“Don’t call me that. It’s embarrassing,” Kenma protested, hopping away from Kuroo’s outstretched arms, somehow managing to use the least amount of energy possible.

“Mm, sure, but there’s nobody around now,” Kuroo pointed out. “Babe.”

“Stop it.”

“Don’t you mean ‘stop it, babe?’”

“I’m not calling you babe.”

“Aw, you don’t really mean that, do you? Babe’s cute, and you’re cute, so it fits perfectly. I’m thinking a hot nickname for me….hm….something like…..Daddy?”

Kenma gave him an unimpressed stare, but his nose was creasing up in that particular way it did when he was holding back laughter. “I hate you.”

Kuroo grinned and ducked down before Kenma could move away, placing a sloppy kiss on his temple. “I know, babe.”

Kenma paused briefly, thinking. “What about Ferrie?”

“‘Suppose that works too, although I have no fucking idea where you got that from.”

“Four hundred plus cute nicknames to call your boyfriend. It’s a great website.”

“Are you being serious?”

“Yes, Burning Rice Eater.”

“What do you do online.”

Kenma shrugged. “Stuff. At least it’s not all the same, unlike you.”

“I vary the things I do online,” Kuroo protested. “Like changing the type of porn.”

“I was referring to the constant stream of science forums you visit.”

Kuroo froze, a  droplet forming on his temple, and he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “What...I don’t visit those….they’re for nerds,” he denied, visibly sweating.

Kenma snorted. “Everyone knows you’re a bigger nerd than me. Stop trying to hide it.”

“I have nothing to hide, because I am not a nerd.”

“Whatever you say.” Kenma ducked his face, but Kuroo could still see the soft smile spreading across his lips. He smiled to himself, ruffling the hair at the back of Kenma’s head just to make sure he knew that he saw that little twitch of the corners of his mouth upwards. Kenma made a slight sound of protest, but then he leaned back into the touch, shoulders relaxing easily.

Kuroo wondered briefly if it was this simple and natural between Iwaizumi and Oikawa, even if they’d known each other such a short time in comparison to Kenma and him’s life-long bond.

Nah, he decided. Impossible.

\------

"Alright, you know what?" Iwaizumi asked suddenly, just as the cashier lethargically slid over their change.

"What? You're finally breaking off your friendship with that dick? About time," Oikawa huffed out, tilting his palm and emptying the coins into his pocket.

"Wrong. I'm going to cook something for you, so we need to buy stuff."

"What kind of stuff?" Oikawa squinted suspiciously.

"Vegetables, rice, fish, maybe some noodles for later. Also, I'll need some ingredients to whip up a sauce too, but I'll get those."

Oikawa scrunched up his nose in distaste. "Sounds like a recipe for the boring meals my mother used to make."

"It's exactly that," Iwaizumi said shortly. "There's a reason your mother fed you those boring meals, you know."

"To starve me to death?"

"No. To make sure you live past thirty. So I'm forbidding you to buy anything even slightly processed or sugary. "

"Boring," Oikawa commented flatly, lifting up one hand and splaying out his fingers, surveying the back of his hand with the utmost disinterest.

Iwaizumi heaved a sigh. "Fine, if you don't want to help you can catch up with Kuroo and hang out with him and Kenma instead. It'd probably be easier to shop without you here anyway."

"Are you trying to get rid of me, by any chance, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa queried slyly, dropping his hand to cock it onto his hip, tilting his head back ever so slightly.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and spun around, turning his back on Oikawa as he made his way up the aisle. "Stay here, then."

"But I want to help!"

Iwaizumi stopped, twirling around to gesture at Oikawa in pure frustration. "Why didn't you say that earlier?!"

“I did,” Oikawa protested with a sly smirk. “Just in a roundabout, incredibly vague way.”

“So, not at all.”

Iwaizumi began striding purposefully up the aisle again, and Oikawa pattered after him with a short pout, trying to convince him to buy everything that had a plastic cage around it. The cashier stared after them, propped one hand up on the counter, rested her chin on her palm and tried to decide if Harry Potter AU or Naruto AU would suit the duo more.

\-----

A surprisingly short amount of time later they were back out in the street again, this time laden with two plastic bags each. Oikawa took a quick, sharp moment to admire how the extra weight on Iwaizumi's arms made his muscles more prominent, and then spoke.

"I'm not walking all the way back with these. I'm calling Mattsun for a lift."

"Alright. You can get in with the bags and I'll jog back."

Oikawa was confused for a moment before it clicked with him. Iwaizumi. Shou. Car crash. Right.

"Ah, sorry, Iwa-chan. I forgot that you don't like cars," Oikawa apologised sheepishly.

"It's fine. You can get a lift if you want."

"Nah, I'll walk with you! I couldn't leave a poor grumpy loner like you walk alone."

Iwaizumi frowned, honestly bemused, and Oikawa couldn't help smiling. He was simply adorable sometimes, despite his built stature and sharp features.

"I'm a grumpy loner?"

"Yes, Iwa-chan, you are grumpy and you don't socialise enough. Therefore, a grumpy loner."

"I socialised just yesterday. You remember, at the party you arranged?"

Oikawa waved a hand around, dismissive. "That didn't count. It was your birthday."

"Alright then, when was the last time you socialised? I didn't see you out lately."

"Of course I socialise! I always-" the words flailed on Oikawa's lips in a panic as he realised that Iwaizumi was right, he really hadn't been going out to bars at night like usual, or getting hammered at least four times a week. In fact, when was the last time he even had sex? Had to be over a month, for sure.

"Oh," was all that left Oikawa's mouth.

Well, it wasn't as if he wanted to hook up with just anybody anymore. Not when there was a gorgeous man technically rooming with him. Oikawa gazed over at Iwaizumi, who raised his head from inspecting their purchases and lifted his eyebrows. "You ready to start walking now?"

"Yeah...yeah! 'Course! I'm up for anything with you, Iwa-chan." He winked before he could stop himself, the force of habit overpowering his better instincts. He always had been a flirt by nature, after all.

"Great," Iwaizumi said simply, and began walking towards Oikawa's apartment.

Oikawa pouted briefly before following on. He had hoped for a better reaction than that - or any reaction at all, really, would've been enough to satisfy him. True, he never meant to flirt with Iwaizumi in the first place, but it would've been nice to be complimented on his amazing winking skills.

 _It would also be nice to make out with Iwa-chan_ , his mind suggested, and Oikawa agreed readily, although the thought sent a jolt of nervousness through him.

He still needed to figure out how to make a move, which was completely unusual for Oikawa. Flirting was second nature to him, for goodness’ sake. He could easily sling an arm around Iwaizumi’s shoulder or...something. Something a bit more obvious. Oikawa uncurled his hands, suddenly a lot more sweaty than they were a moment ago.

Shit, he couldn’t even think about it without getting nervous.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to flirt. Maybe, like last night, the opportunity would arise naturally, when Iwaizumi was softened by the night air and Oikawa allowed his instinctive mask to falter under dirty streetlights.

Oikawa really hoped so.

For now, though, he trudged along after Iwaizumi and tried to ignore the sting forming in his knee.

\----

"I'm tired," Oikawa complained.

"We've been walking five minutes." Iwaizumi glanced back at him, eyebrows almost squishing together in the middle. "Are you really tired?"

"Yes! Carry me!"

Oikawa outstretched his arms pleadingly, like a five year old kid who wanted to be swept up in their parent's arms. His knee was throbbing. Yesterday, he'd walked to the hospital to fix up his hand, then to somewhere for coffee, and today, back to the hospital when Iwaizumi had gotten the news. He'd normally ignore the warning signs that indicated when his knee was going to be a bitch and pack it in, but that meant he'd have to get Mattsun to drive him anywhere he wanted to go. And Iwa-chan would be left walking on his own - which wasn't a bad thing in itself, far from it, but Oikawa knew well the dangers of being left alone with your thoughts. He wanted to distract Iwaizumi for as long as possible from the bleak fact that he'll have to talk in-depth with his mother about his brother's death.

Oikawa wiggled his fingers, and Iwaizumi sighed in submission, perhaps sensing there was more to this than Oikawa just being bratty. "Fine. Get on."

Oikawa clapped his hands together in glee, bags swinging off the crooks of his elbows. "Iwa -chan, you're the best!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, just get on already," Iwaizumi grumbled, turning his back to Oikawa and stooping, but Oikawa could see a pink tint staining the back of his neck.

"Thank you, Iwa-chan," Oikawa sang out as he clambered on gratefully, wrapping his arms around Iwaizumi's neck.

Iwaizumi rose easily, so fluidly that Oikawa was highly impressed. He didn't think Iwaizumi could carry him for the entire trip - that was humanly impossible, Oikawa might be lanky but he was muscular, and muscles were not light - but the distance Oikawa guessed that they'd go before he dumped him back down increased quite a bit.

It made sense, Oikawa supposed. Iwaizumi either walked or ran to multiple locations every day, on top of any extra runs he did to relieve stress. His legs must be very strong, Oikawa thought, and could barely stop himself from leaning to the side and attempting to see just how strong. He couldn't, anyway. He was wearing loose jeans, his usual attire. Oikawa's gaze narrowed.

"Iwa-chan, I'm going to dress you properly some day."

"Properly?" Iwaizumi repeated in confusion, his palms warm underneath Oikawa's thighs. "What does that mean? What's wrong with what I'm wearing now?"

Oikawa sighed against Iwaizumi's reddened neck - from exertion or from other reasons, he didn't know - and picked at his hoodie.

"There's nothing wrong with what you wear really, it's only the fact that it's the same every day."

"But this is my blue hoodie. I wore my dark grey one yesterday."

"Oh, you simple creature. I meant the outfit. Jeans and hoodies. You need some variety!"

Iwaizumi turned his head to look at Oikawa, bewilderment passing over his face. Oikawa felt warmth spike through him. Iwa-chan could really live up to his cute nickname at times, he had to admit.

“Why?”

Oikawa sighed deeply, tapping Iwaizumi’s skull firmly with his index finger as he felt the steady rise and fall of Iwaizumi’s feet slow.

“To look good, you clueless man. One of the most important things in life, might I add.”

Oikawa felt Iwaizumi shrug, muscles shifting against his chest and underneath his coiled arms, as he broke eye contact and faced forward again.

“I don’t think it’s that important. Maybe for you it is, but I don’t really care.”

“This is going to be difficult if you fight me,” Oikawa complained, resting his chin on the top of Iwaizumi’s head, who didn’t protest. “Come on, it’ll be fun, I promise!”

“Trying on clothes all day does not seem fun to me. I don’t have time anyway.”

“Then I’ll shop for you,” Oikawa breathed out, closing his eyes and relaxing, enjoying the slow bob of Iwaizumi walking. “There’s no point resisting, Iwa-chan. When I’ve made up my mind to hold a clothing intervention, I’m going through with it.”

“An intervention? That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

Oikawa hummed quietly, moving the plastic bags down his arms to a more comfortable position with a little rustle of plastic.

“I exaggerate a lot, if you haven’t noticed, but I think this time is justified. You have, by far, the worst fashion sense out of all of my friends. And that’s including Makki, who always insists on wearing a speedo when he goes to the pool.”

Iwaizumi snorted, then seemed to remember that Oikawa was insulted him. “My fashion taste is better than that.”

His breathing was growing heavier, and Oikawa opened his eyes again, reluctantly squirming around on Iwaizumi’s back. Letting Iwaizumi carry him any longer would just be selfish.

“I wanna get down,” Oikawa whined loudly, stretching out his legs, gripping the front of Iwaizumi’s hoodie, and generally making himself very awkward to carry any further.

“Fine, fine,” Iwaizumi mumbled, and then his hands were slipping out from underneath Oikawa’s thighs, gradually lowering him to the ground.

Oikawa sucked in his lower lip, as his feet hit the pavement, vibrations sending a tiny twinge to shoot through his knee. He glanced down at it instinctively, trying to judge its state. Okay, it wasn’t too bad. He could make it home, and hopefully there wouldn’t be much more walking today, or he’d have to call Mattsun. Becoming aware of Iwaizumi’s gaze on him, Oikawa’s head snapped up again, aiming a cheerful smile at him as he scraped the plastic handles down into his palms, the weight of them creating red lines in his pale skin.  

“Is something-”

“Let’s go!” Oikawa cut across his query cleanly, striding out in front. “I’m going to pass out from hunger if we don’t hurry up, and then you’ll have to carry me all the way back, and neither of us want that.”

Oikawa didn’t turn around, but he could feel Iwaizumi’s gaze narrow in suspicion, his response just a bit too delayed and the silence too thoughtful.

“Yeah. Here-”

Oikawa felt fingers running along the inside of his palm, carefully curling his fist open.

“Let me take those. You did say you were tired earlier, after all,” Iwaizumi said, appearing by Oikawa’s side as his fingers caught on the strained plastic ropes, removing one bag successfully.

“It’s not fair to let you carry all of them,” Oikawa protested, but he didn’t resist as Iwaizumi reached across, slid his hand underneath Oikawa’s opening palm and took the other load.

“It’s fine. I’d rather carry these than you again,” Iwaizumi told him with a slight smile, one corner of his mouth lifting crookedly.

He bumped his shoulder into Oikawa’s, and Oikawa felt his own mouth quirking into a smile, effortless and almost foreign in its honesty.

“Oh, I see what it is now,” Oikawa complained. “If you’re carrying those, you can’t carry me as well, is that what you’re trying to say?”

“I guess, if you want to take it that way.”

“Even though you’ve already carried everything?”

Iwaizumi turned his head and glowered at Oikawa, who flung up his palms defensively, although the effect was ruined by his smirk. “Hey, I’m just stating the obvious here.”

“I know, I know,” Iwaizumi grumped, looking away and shifting all the plastic handles to one hand, flexing his sore hand with a quiet hiss. “These are so annoying. We need to get those reusable ones with decent handles sometime.”

“Agreed. We wouldn’t want my perfect hands to get even more torn up, would we? Then again, you could always just carry everything,” Oikawa suggested, casting an eye over to the healing wound on his right hand.

“I don’t like that idea.”

“I do, for some strange reason I can’t quite put my finger on,” Oikawa continued on, straightening out his facial expression.

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi murmured, pushing at Oikawa’s shoulder. “Next time, you’re carrying all the shit.”

“Sure, that’s definitely going to happen.”

“We’ll see.”

Oikawa didn’t miss Iwaizumi’s mischievous grin, and for some reason it seemed a lot more natural than his scowl. He placed a hand on his hip, leering at Iwaizumi suspiciously. “Is that a threat, Iwa-chan?”

“Not at all. Where did you get that idea from?”

“Since when can you use sarcasm?” Oikawa complained, straightening up again with a lazy yawn. “I always thought it was beyond you.”

“I’ve used it before.”

“When?”

“Last night. When we were coming out of the elevator, remember? You were trying to figure out if I was being sarcastic or not.”

“Hmm….” Oikawa hummed out thoughtfully, but really all he could recall was imagining blowing Iwaizumi in the lift and the soft scent of Iwaizumi as he leaned in close, so close…

“Nothing?” Iwaizumi guessed, rolling his shoulders and successfully completely distracting Oikawa with the strong shift of muscles, evident even under his loose clothing.

“Yeah, too bad,” Oikawa commented. “I can’t remember a time when you were ever witty, in fact.”

Iwaizumi shoved his shoulder into Oikawa’s, who laughed with the breeze, light and airy and free.

“Don’t take it personally, Iwa-chan! It’s tough to keep up with my sharp tongue, I know.”  
Iwaizumi’s responding snort of disbelief, his gentle nudge of amusement, and his steadiness helped Oikawa forget about the pain in his knee, Iwaizumi’s quiet, deep laughter numbing the agony all the way home.

The easing of the pain was all in Oikawa’s mind, of course, but Iwaizumi made it bearable.

\--

"So what are you going to make, O Great Chef Iwa-chan?" Oikawa clucked as he draped himself over the table, lethargically watching Iwaizumi's arms flex as he dumped the goods onto the table.

"I don't know yet. Something with a lot of vegetables," Hajime replied, taking out all the chilled foods first. "I'll probably throw in some fish then, too."

"Sounds gross," Oikawa yawned, eyes crinkling up into slits. "Are you sure you know what you're doing? I could try and make something too. Like noodles. Or rice."

"I think I have a better chance of making something edible than you," Iwaizumi pointed out, crouching down as he placed some stuff in the fridge.

"That's unfair," Oikawa whined out, picking out his one lonely milk bread and breaking it open. "Just because you can boil an egg properly, you think you're better at cooking than me?"

"I am. And don't you dare eat that. You'll ruin your appetite."

Iwaizumi strode over and plucked the sugary treat right out of Oikawa's despairing hands, scowling.

"Awww, Iwa-chan! Don't be mean!"

"Ugh, fine," Iwaizumi sighed out heavily, then tossed it back to Oikawa. "I've decided what I'm going to make, and it might take a while. You'll need that to keep you going until then."

"I knew you'd see sense," Oikawa cheered, munching away happily as Iwaizumi busied himself with preparing the ingredients.

There was a few moments of silence where Oikawa was finishing off his snack and Iwaizumi simply didn’t feel the need to shade it in with his voice. There was no desire to, in either of them. After a few minutes, Oikawa spun around on his chair, fired the plastic wrapper into the bin, and piped up.

"Can I see your phone?"

Iwaizumi squinted at a benign, innocent-appearing Oikawa, eyes wide and beseeching. Most definitely up to something.

"Why."

"I want to call Suga-kun, and I've run out of minutes for this month," Oikawa explained, eyes growing shinier and broader every second Iwaizumi looked at him.

Iwaizumi did a quick mental check in his head.

"It's only the eleventh. How are you out of minutes already?"

"I talk a lot, if you haven't noticed," Oikawa shrugged, running a hand up his arm. "And I can't text, because he won't reply for ages."

"Fine. Here."

Iwaizumi passed him over his phone, and Oikawa brightened instantly, the glint in his eyes resurfacing.

"Thanks, Iwa-chan! 4444, right?"

"Yeah."

Iwaizumi had barely turned his back when he heard the whirr of the shutter sound effect, repeating rapidly, over and over again. He faced Oikawa once more, slotting a hand onto his hip as he gazed at him, unsurprised.

"I thought you wanted to call Sugawara. What are you doing?"

Oikawa, a large painted grin splattered on his face, glanced over, one hand risen high in the air and angling the phone surface down towards him.

"I saw my reflection in the screen and I thought to myself, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to capture this moment of me looking so handsome," he explained as if it was a perfectly rational excuse. "But you're right! It's rude to not include you too!"

"I didn't say anything about-"

Oikawa had already bounded over to him eagerly, slinging an arm around his neck as he grinned, thumb hovering above the little grey circle.

"Say 'milk bread'!"

"What? No."

A second later, the picture was taken, Oikawa's whining drifting into his ear. "You blinked, so let's try again! This time, smile! Or at least get rid of that grumpy expression."

"I don't have a grumpy expression," Iwaizumi protested even as Oikawa lifted both his eyebrows, the hand around his neck flying up to Hajime's cheek and patting it gently.

"Oh dear, dear Iwa-chan. You really need to learn the names of expressions, you know, if you want to make it in life."

Iwaizumi barely had time to retort back before Oikawa’s body was shifting closer to his, leaning over his shoulder as his thumb tapped the screen. His chest bumped against Iwaizumi’s back, warmth soaking in through his clothing, and Iwaizumi swallowed, finding it more and more difficult to focus on the camera with Oikawa’s breath hot against his neck.

“Ah, that’s better, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa crowed in victory, continuing to reel off his selfie spam.

“Wait, what?”

“If I tell you you’ll just ruin it,” Oikawa replied, and Iwaizumi began to wonder how his arm wasn’t growing tired.

“Tell me,” Iwaizumi insisted, rotating his head to look at Oikawa.

“Your scowl is almost gone!” OIkawa burst out happily, his smile brightening with every word, and he was left glowing. “I’ve succeeded in ridding you of your resting bitch face!”

“No you haven’t.”

“There’s no point in denying it, my dear Iwa-chan!” Oikawa sang out, triumphant. “I win, like always! Now come on, flaunt those long eyelashes!"

"How exactly do I flaunt them? They're attached to my eyelids."

"You just gotta get the angle right! Here, I'll show you.." Oikawa grasped Iwaizumi's chin and kept rotating his head to the side slowly, keeping an eye on the screen. "There we go! Now, don't move."

 _Fuck_ , flitted through Iwaizumi’s mind as he gazed at him, all stunning smiles and brown eyes almost invisible with honest joy and Iwaizumi’s poor gay self couldn’t handle it.

Fuck, _fuck_.

\--

It isn’t fair, Iwaizumi thought as he scrolled through the pictures, an empty plate in front of him and Oikawa slouched beside him, idly searching for any decent new show to marathon. Oikawa was so...in a single word, breathtaking, and Iwaizumi was….well, unused to photos, to say the least. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d even taken a photo voluntarily, without either Kuroo or Bokuto forcing him into a group one. He flicked onto the last one, and his heart almost stopped. Neither of them were looking at the camera. Oikawa’s eyes were curled up completely, his face angled downwards, caught mid-giggle, his smile radiant, and Iwaizumi himself….was that a smile on his lips? Iwaizumi didn’t recall smiling. And he was regarding Oikawa with such obvious….warmth - warmth was the word -  in his eyes that Iwaizumi almost felt disgusted by himself. Did he really look at Oikawa like that? No wonder Kuroo had called them out on their gayness.

“Godzilla vs. Megalon or Space Battleship Yamato?” Oikawa asked suddenly. “I can’t decide.”

Iwaizumi started, glancing across at Oikawa. “What?”

“Ooh, are you looking at the pictures? Show me, I wanna see,” Oikawa probed, leaning in to survey Iwaizumi’s phone. Iwaizumi panicked, locking his phone quickly and shoving it away in his pocket.

“I’ll show you them later,” he mumbled, shuffling down into his hoodie deeper, trying to hide his darkening cheeks. No way was he showing Oikawa the last ones. No way in hell. He’d be teased for the rest of his life, and even then, probably into death, too. He wouldn’t put it past Oikawa to figure out a way to bring it up at his funeral. “And Godzilla vs. Megalon. Obviously.”

“But it’s old and shitty,” Oikawa complained, and Iwaizumi breathed out a sigh of relief. Distraction successful.

“Hey, you gave me a choice, so I chose.”

“I thought you’d choose the right option.”

Iwaizumi checked the time. “Do we really have time for a movie now? I kind of need to get back to my mom.”

“Oh. Oh yeah, of course.” Oikawa straightened, gathering up his scarf and looping it around his neck. “We can go now, then.”

Iwaizumi squinted at him, remembering how he winced when he left him down from the piggyback. “Are you sure you’re okay to walk? I can go on my own, you know.”

“What makes you think I’m not okay to walk?” Oikawa huffed out, standing up purposefully, as if to prove he was alright. “I’m totally fine!”

Iwaizumi gazed up at him, and sighed deeply. “Because you won’t admit when your knee hurts, and I’m worried about you.”

Pouting, Oikawa turned his face away, a hard expression passing over his features. “I said I’m good to walk.”

Reaching up with a hand, Iwaizumi clasped Oikawa’s wrist, tugging it lightly. Oikawa still refused to look at him, so Iwaizumi let go, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. “I’ll go by myself then.”

“I want to go with you,” Oikawa insisted, one hand anxiously picking at the loose material of the scarf.

“Fine, then take a taxi, or ask Matsukawa to drive you,” Iwaizumi answered equally as stubbornly, getting to his feet.

He could see Oikawa’s lips stick out in annoyance, the knowledge that Iwaizumi wasn’t going to back down souring his expression.

“Fine,” he said eventually. “I’ll get a taxi, but you take my bike.”

Iwaizumi inclined his head. “Sounds good to me.”

\----

Less than an hour later, they were back, Iwaizumi huddled by his mother’s side. Oikawa stood behind him, leaning back against the wall, absently bobbing his head to the music blasting out of his earphones. It wasn’t loud, demanding music. It was music that felt right, soft and calming.

 

_Then I'll lose my love_

_Then I'll sit in silence_

_Let the pictures soak_

_Out of televisions_

_Float across the room_

_Whisper into one ear_

_And out the other one_

 

Without warning, he tugged out one of his earphones and plugged it into Iwaizumi’s ear, who frowned, looked at him out of the corner of his eye but didn’t protest, instead opting for silence as they both listened within the quietness of his mother’s breathing.

 

_I'll call out in the night for my mother_

_But she isn't coming back for me_

_Cause she's already gone_

_But you will not tell me that_

_Cause you know it hurts me everytime you say it_

_And you know you're doing the right thing_

_You must know you're doing the right thing_

 

“It’s good,” he said eventually, after it was finished. “Depressing, though.”

Oikawa shrugged, taking back the small white object and pressing it back into his ear as he leaned back again. “It’s the type of music I’m in the mood for.”

Iwaizumi nodded, getting it. “It’s the kind of music I’d fall asleep to.”

“You fall asleep to music too?” Oikawa questioned, tilting his head.

“Yeah. When I want to block out my thoughts,” Iwaizumi explained, then ducked his face, reddening slightly. “That sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all,” Oikawa said softly. “Sometimes they just won’t shut up.”

Iwaizumi blinked, and nodded again, simply because he didn’t know any other way to show his appreciation. Oikawa understood, and it was Oikawa that broke the silence.

“It’s getting late.”

“Yeah, it is.” Iwaizumi turned around again, facing his mother’s bedside.

"I assume you're staying tonight?" Oikawa asked, his fingers quickly interlacing and separating again, repeating the movement over and over.

"Yeah." Iwaizumi confirmed , his eyes fixed on his mother, hands steady around hers. "I want to be here when she wakes up again."

When. The word carried an air of total relief around it, of the utmost gratitude to the world that it's when. When, and not if.

"Okay, so I'll..." Oikawa glanced downwards, one hand grooming back through his hair. "I'll go-"

"Get a chair."

Oikawa blinked. "What?"

"Get a chair, if you want to stay. I know it's a big favour for me to ask, but..." Iwaizumi halted for a second to turn and gaze up at Oikawa, who lifted his gaze to meet his. "I'd like some company."

Thankful relief flooded Oikawa's chest, and his smile lit up of its own accord this time, beaming at Iwaizumi. He was wanted.

"Of course! I'm going to steal the comfiest chair they have here. Do you think Hiroka-san would let me borrow her spinning chair? It looks so fun, and then I wouldn't have to walk down the corridor to the bathroom!"

Iwaizumi's lips were quick to return the grin, an almost identical mischievous gleam in his eyes as he shook his head. "No way. As fun as that sounds, she's super protective over that chair. Plus, we'd wake up all the patients who are trying to sleep."

"Aw," Oikawa complained, but his grin didn't fade at all. "What if I tried to seduce her?"

"Please don't. She's a married fifty-something year old woman."

"Relax, Iwa-chan. I was kidding!"

"Thank fuck. I still wouldn't put it past you, though."

"I'm so hurt," Oikawa mourned, one hand pressed over his chest. "How could you? I am a pure and innocent being."

Iwaizumi cracked a smile. "Sure you are."

"Was that sarcasm by any chance, Hedgehog-chan?"

"Don't call me that. Iwa-chan is bad enough. Go get your chair already. There should be some foldable ones in a closet somewhere."

“On it!”

Oikawa disappeared out the doorway in a flash of white teeth and a hasty peace sign, to which Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, despite Oikawa being unable to see. He was back within a few minutes anyway, placing the chair down carefully next to Iwaizumi. He’d swapped out his contact lens for glasses, and he straightened them out now, fixing some hair that had gotten trapped between the side of his head and the frames.

“When do you think she’ll wake up?” Oikawa questioned, eyes running over her face, wearing an expression which was far from peaceful. He briefly wondered if she was dreaming about her dead son, and then swallowed, shaking his head slightly. No. No, he wasn’t going to go down that route.

“I’m hoping tomorrow, so I can get some rest,” Iwaizumi admitted, playing with the edge of the bedsheet. “But I’ll be here if she does wake up.”

Oikawa dropped his gaze, nodding in understanding. “Yeah, I get you. You kind of have a lot to talk about, don’t you?”

“That’s putting it lightly.” Iwaizumi chewed lightly on the edge of his mouth, hands floating over to his mother’s. “We have six years to catch up on, not to mention Shou. It’s going to devastate her, even more than it already has.”

“How did you manage?” Oikawa breathed out, more like thinking out loud than asking a question, but Iwaizumi didn’t flinch.

“I didn’t, at the start. I was seventeen. I couldn’t handle it, so I got drunk, a lot.”

Iwaizumi fell silent, quietly threading his fingers through his mother’s, veins evident underneath the thin, folding skin. Oikawa didn’t fill in the soundlessness, instead choosing to stay mute, maintain the hush as Iwaizumi thought back mutely.

“I got myself together eventually, of course. Not before I had to sell the house, though, and not without  a massive amount of help from my friends. I began working as soon as I could, and here I am,” Iwaizumi finished simply, lifting his mother’s hand to press his mouth against it lovingly.

Oikawa really wasn’t sure of what to say. He couldn’t think of anything, and he squirmed dumbly on his chair, fighting for some words that didn’t sound utterly lame or cliche.

“It’s fine,” Iwaizumi said, almost as if reading his mind. “You don’t have to say anything. Thanks for shutting up and listening to me.”

Oikawa blinked, sitting up straighter in his chair in indignation. “Am I supposed to be insulted by that?”

“Nah,” Iwaizumi told him, turning his head to aim a crooked grin his way, teasing. “It’s a compliment. You don’t shut up for much, so it was nice of you to stop speaking to listen to me. Must’ve been torture for you.”

Relief flooding over him, Oikawa grinned back, swaying sideways to bump his shoulder into Iwaizumi.

“Some would take that as an insult, but since I’m so generous, I’ll let it pass this one time.”

“Much appreciated,” Iwaizumi answered, eyes warm as he shoved his shoulder against him in retaliation, almost knocking Oikawa off the chair.

“Hey, this isn’t fair,” Oikawa complained, darting out a hand to catch onto Iwaizumi’s shirt, steadying himself. “You’ve got an incredible advantage.”

“How?”

“Oh come on! You can’t be that blind!” Oikawa protested, pushing his displaced glasses up his nose again with one slender finger. “You’ve got such big shoulders compared to me.”

“Hey, you’re still strong, even if you’re a bit on the lanky side.”

“See? Nobody could possibly describe you as lanky. So you have the advantage in mass,” Oikawa continued on, his expression serious as he touched the side of his frames, eyes glinting. “So if I don’t have more acceleration than you, the force produced will be less than yours-”

Iwaizumi threw his hand back and almost blurted out laughter, but he managed to suppress it in time, his shoulders quivering silently. “Are you trying to act smart because you’ve got glasses on?”

“No,” Oikawa denied sulkily. ”I’m this smart all the time. Obviously. You just didn’t notice before now.”

Iwaizumi grinned at him, clearly disbelieving. “Sure I didn’t. I guess I’m just too dense to pick up on your genius, huh?”

“Exactly,” Oikawa huffed out, trying to keep a straight face but a smile kept slipping onto his lips. “Maybe you aren’t so thick after all.”

Iwaizumi touched his shoulder against Oikawa’s, and this time he kept it there.

Something caught Oikawa's eye.

Iwaizumi’s fingers, structured and powerful, dark against the stark white of the hospital sheets.

Part of Iwaizumi. Of course. It always was, especially lately. Ever since he'd realised he was attracted to him, it had become more and more difficult to tear his gaze away from him. And as he began to know him and his life, his family, how gentle and careful he was with his mother, the desire to rip his jeans off, the sexual lust, faded under the yearning to clasp his palm, roughened from years of physical work, in his own, to feel his warm body entangle with his as they snuggled down onto the couch, feel his rocking laughter against his chest.

Oikawa pined for that. He wanted Iwaizumi. All of him. Not just his body, but every detail of his personality and the stories engraved in the lines of his hands and the fear in his eyes when he spoke of death and the love when he looked at his mom and...everything. Simple, really. Oikawa wanted everything, every single part of him. Even his anger, his independent pride, his stubbornness. Oikawa had always been greedy by nature - he wanted to decimate every team, become and stay the national setter, destroy Kageyama and Ushijima, have attention, the spotlight, constantly, and it goes without saying that he was greedy now too.

He craved Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi turned his head , and locked eyes with Oikawa, perhaps sensing his lingering stare. "What is it?"

"What? Nothing!" Oikawa claimed, breaking eye contact as his head whipped away, fire consuming his cheeks. "Why would you assume there's something to talk about? There's nothing, of course!" At Iwaizumi's doubtful frown, Oikawa cut off his rambling, instead placing an awkward smile on his lips. There was a moment of silence as Iwaizumi's eyes draped over Oikawa's fiery face, as if trying to read his thoughts. What was worse was that Oikawa wasn't sure that he couldn't. He wouldn't exactly be surprised if Iwaizumi knew precisely what he was thinking, so he hastily scrambled, attempting to switch his thoughts over to a less gay subject. Volleyball. Okay. He liked volleyball. Iwa-chan played volleyball too.

He also liked Iwa-chan.

Fuck.

"Alright, if you say so," Iwaizumi said eventually, turning away from him. "You might want to catch some sleep now, though. I have to leave early."

"Work, I'm assuming?" Oikawa asked dryly.

"Yup," Iwaizumi answered with a heavy sigh. "I'll be getting the details of Mom's rehab tomorrow morning, too."

"That's going to be rough, isn't it?" Oikawa murmured, casually leaning over to rest against Iwaizumi's side. He felt Iwaizumi lean back, some of his weight transferring to Oikawa so they didn't topple over, instead balancing comfortably in the small gap between their chairs.

"I suppose. I know that she's never going to make a full recovery, but I'm so glad that I can talk to her again," Iwaizumi said back softly. "And there's going to be other stuff we'll have to deal with, of course, but it's worth it. I'm...really thankful she woke up."

Oikawa heard the break in Iwaizumi's voice, and he glanced over to see him furiously rubbing his sleeve across his eyes, his shoulder silently quivering against Oikawa's. "Ah, fuck."

"Crying because you're grateful isn't something to be ashamed of," Oikawa told him gently. "Cry all you want."

Iwaizumi turned his head slightly to offer him a watery, wobbling smile, his sleeve covering his nose. "Thanks, Oikawa."

"Ew, gross," Oikawa complained, fishing a tissue out of his jacket pocket and passing it over to him. "Don't use your sleeve as a tissue!"

"Sorry. Didn't have anything else," Iwaizumi muttered as he soaked up the discharge from his nose, blowing it cautiously so not to wake up his mom.

"You could've just asked me if I had a tissue, you know," Oikawa scolded mildly, reaching over to pinch Iwaizumi's arm.

"Ouch, Oikawa, fine, next time I'll ask for your goddamn tissues, alright?"

"There's my angry Iwa-chan," Oikawa chirped contentedly, tilting his head sideways to settle on Iwaizumi's shoulder. He felt Iwaizumi's arm contract as he raised his hand, hesitantly stroking down the edges of Oikawa's hair at the back of his head. It was slow and soothing, and Oikawa's eyelids lowered peacefully.

"I don't know where you could sleep here," Iwaizumi commented, voice low. "Maybe you should go home."

"I'm fine here. Just perfectly fine," Oikawa mumbled back, feeling his head grow fuzzy. Iwaizumi had that effect on him, especially when they were hugging, or somehow in contact with each other. Oikawa, normally constantly aware and on edge, dropped his guard and...just felt safe. Warm. Like he could fall asleep and be watched over as he was sleeping, and not only by aliens. He’d always believed that aliens were looking out for him, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to sleep at all, like when he was older. And now, he had no problem drifting off.

"Maybe Iwa-chan is an alien," passed Oikawa's lips, soft and indistinct.

"Huh?" Iwaizumi's fingers paused their tender massaging in question. "I'm fairly certain I'm not an alien."

"Mm, are you sure?” Oikawa slurred out. “I don’t know any humans who voluntarily eat tofu.”

Iwaizumi snorted, and almost prods the back of Oikawa’s skull but thought better of it. He didn’t want to stop Oikawa from falling asleep, as much as he’d like his company for longer. “That was rude.”

“Hey, it wasn’t an insult. I thought I was an alien when I was like six.”

“That doesn’t really surprise me.”

“Did I ever tell you why I was obsessed with aliens?" Oikawa mumbled, on the verge of sleep.

"Don't think so." Iwaizumi's voice had become even softer, afraid of waking up two people now.

Oikawa allowed a few moments to drift by in easy silence, the type of silence he had no desire to break, before speaking.

"I think it was because they were different, and I was different. I thought that I might fit in with them. When I was younger, I used to pretend I was one, and they - my real parents - would come for me someday."

"That's..." Iwaizumi paused. "Really sad. Not in the bad way, I mean. Did you really feel that isolated?"

Oikawa exhaled, feeling Iwaizumi's carefully ruffle his hair in sympathy.

"Yeah. Like, I was always into stuff nobody else was into, and...I don't know. Kids my age just didn't like me for some reason. I was branded as weird, then exiled. My mother couldn't control me, and I was just a disappointment to my father. They always preferred my older sister,  anyways. That's why I became so into volleyball. I could actually do something, and, for a bit, things got better, especially in high school. I met Makki and Mattsun, I became a setter, but then..." Oikawa heaved a sigh which turned into a yawn, rubbing at one eye vaguely. "You know the rest. Kageyama, yadda yadda, steroids, fucking Ushijima, whatever. Shit's back exactly the way it was. Or, well, so I thought." Oikawa smiled, his heart beating quick and hot. "I have you now, don't I?"

Iwaizumi's breath stopped in his throat, blocking it up with heavy emotions, and he physically couldn't speak as Oikawa yawned again, his breathing becoming slower and steadier, and finally when his body relaxed utterly next to him, relying on him for stabilisation. Then, finally, Hajime was able to speak.

"You do, Oikawa. You have me so much more than you think."

Twisting his head to the side, he pressed his lips against the top of Oikawa’s head, closing his eyes and mesmerizing the misty, faint scent of vanilla curling off his ash-brown hair.

Somewhere in the depths of his dreams, Oikawa smiled.

\---

“Ouch,” Oikawa groaned out, his neck cracking as he angled it to the side. “How the fuck did we manage to sleep like that?”

“Don’t ask me,” Iwaizumi grumbled, his neck equally as sore. “I’m just surprised that we didn’t fall during the night.”

“This is supporting my alien theory,” Oikawa whispered out under his breath, smiling innocently when Iwaizumi shot him a suspicious look.

“I heard something about aliens.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Iwaizumi’s face grew more and more skeptical as Oikawa blinked at him in guiltless silence, ruffling the hair at the back of his neck. “Are we going to get breakfast or are you just going to stare at me all morning, Iwa-chan?”

That got Iwaizumi tearing his gaze away from Oikawa, glancing over at his mother, who was still slumbering away peacefully. “Alright. Let me run to the toilet and then we’ll go.”

“Sure, go relieve your bladder,” Oikawa chirped out, reclining back on his chair and pulling a comb and mirror from his pocket. “I’ll tidy myself up here and tell you if she wakes up.”

“Thanks.”

With that, Iwaizumi was gone, and Oikawa was once again left alone with his mother. He had to admit, though, this time was a lot less uncomfortable. At least, he thought as he carefully worked out some knots, I know Iwa-chan’s coming back in a few minutes this time.

He didn’t count on Iwaizumi’s mother waking up.

Startled, Oikawa felt the hand flailing at his wrist first, the one holding the mirror. He lowered it slowly, and the hand gripped his more intensely, as if to draw him in closer.

Swallowing thickly, Oikawa’s gaze crept up to her face, almost fearfully.

Her eyes were wide and glowing with joy, her trembling hand shaking with more than exertion.

In that moment, the sad realisation hit Oikawa. Recognition was sparkling in her eyes, written plainly all over her beaming face, still pretty despite the dark hollows of her cheeks and drawn wrinkles. A shiver bolted up Oikawa’s spine. She was absolutely convinced that he was Shou, that he was her dead son.

"Iwaizumi-san, I'm- I'm not-"

Oikawa's throat was bone dry. He swallowed, and it clicked. His head spun from side to side, internally begging for Iwa-chan to return, for Yachi to come in for a checkup, Hiroka to gossip, anyone to help him.

"I knew....Shou, you aren't dead. You couldn't be."

Oikawa could barely drag his gaze back up to meet her exhilarated expression, so he didn't. He fixated his field of vision on a section of sheet beside him, beside her hand weakly, desperately clinging onto his. Licking his lips, Oikawa swallowed again, trying to work up the courage to shatter her hope.

Before he could, her hand relaxed on his, and Oikawa glanced up to see her mouth opening in a soundless cry, water seeping out of her horrified eyes.

"You're-"

A gasp. Oikawa winced at the sound, painful and rash and primal.

"Not him."

Oikawa shook his head numbly, a lump rising in his throat.

"Hajime, please tell me Hajime's still okay, that I didn't dream-"

"He's fine," Oikawa reassured her quickly. "He's going to be back soon."

Her expression crumpled.

"But Shou's already gone."

Oikawa bowed his head.

"Yeah."

The room filled with silence, and then with quiet sobs. She was obviously trying to compose herself, a hand able to rise to press down on her mouth with all the little strength she had, but grief had a way of shattering all dignity. Oikawa sat there numbly, letting the little sounds, the tiny weeping cries wash over him, and his dry eyes throbbed.

He took out his phone.

 

 **the perfect one:** she's awake.

 

He wasn't sure when Iwaizumi returned. It could've been mere moments later, or perhaps it was an age, or maybe time hasn't passed at all in the room, halted by pain.

"Hajime," slipped out from between trembling lips, and her arms reached out, lifting just a few inches off of the sheets, hovering weakly with all the strength of a half-drowned person.

Iwaizumi went to her without hesitation, wrapping her in his arms and holding her close, murmuring soft words that Oikawa couldn't hear.

He stood up.

"I'll go."

"Alright. Thanks for staying with her."

Iwaizumi's voice was quiet.

Biting his lip, Oikawa nodded even as his fingers knotted up his hair, moving across the room swiftly. He almost stopped by the door, slowing down as his hand trailed down the doorframe, to say something. Upon seeing the tight embrace of mother and son, he pressed his lips together, choosing not to say anything. He'd wait outside for as long as they wanted to take.

\---

"You're still here?"

At the sound of Iwaizumi's voice, Oikawa started out of his half-asleep trance, fuzzy head jerking up off his palm. He smiled up at Iwaizumi, who was standing above him with reddened eyes and chafed, bitten lips, hints that Oikawa, ever observant, didn't miss.

"Of course I am."

"You could've gone home," Iwaizumi said. "You didn't know how long we'd be."

"I wanted to stay," Oikawa replied simply, patting the chair next to him. "How'd it go?"

Iwaizumi dropped himself down beside him, picking at the hem at the side of his jeans, one hand running back through his hair. "As well as possible, I suppose." He sighed, rubbing both palms down his face heavily. "I never thought I'd have to tell her...well, I never thought about what would happen when she woke up. It's like...refreshing it, like it happened yesterday."

Oikawa scrambled for meaningful something to say, and failed utterly. Instead, he quickly, nervously covered Iwaizumi's hand, fidgeting with his jeans,  with his softly. Iwaizumi's hand stilled underneath his, warm, the curves of his fingers slotting in between Oikawa's perfectly.

"At least you have her now," he mentioned, swallowing as Iwaizumi's gaze travelled over to him gratefully, accepting their linked hands.

"Yeah. But... I just can't stop thinking about my brother recently," Iwaizumi sighed out, leaning against Oikawa's side.

A nurse passed by, glanced at their hands woven together, and crinkled up his nose in disgust, but he didn't stop. He didn't have to. Oikawa flinched and instinctively pulled away his hand, tensing up. The last thing he wanted was Iwaizumi getting more shit to deal with. Iwaizumi's forehead creased up in confusion as their hands detached, but didn't say anything. Shame made Oikawa bow his head, assuming that Iwaizumi didn't catch the glower.

"Sorry, Iwa-chan. I..." Oikawa licked his lips, his throat dry with raspy breaths.

"It's fine." Iwaizumi didn't ask for an explanation, instead flatly pulling away from Oikawa's side and straightening up. "She'd like to meet you, by the way. Properly, I mean."

"What? Meet...me?" Oikawa repeated, eyes widening.

"Yeah? You are...y'know." Iwaizumi's gaze flickered off to the side, one hand rising to scratch the back of his head. "It only makes sense for you to meet her."

"I am...what, now?"

Iwaizumi's cheeks darkened.

"You know. You've said it already."

"But I want to hear you say it," Oikawa answered brightly, shooting a starry smile up at him as he blinked.

Sighing, Iwaizumi grabbed Oikawa's wrist and tugged him up to his feet while Oikawa silently beseeched him with wide brown eyes. "No. C'mon."

"Aw, don't be so cold," Oikawa complained, poking Iwaizumi's arm.

"Fine. I'll indulge you this one time," Iwaizumi sighed out, closing his eyes. "Best friend."

"Hmph, out of context the words don't mean anything.” Oikawa clasped Iwaizumi’s wrist in his hands, towing him in nearer to rest his chin on his shoulder, blinking expectantly.

Iwaizumi opened his eyes, glancing at Oikawa out of the corner of his eye. "You're my best friend, alright? Happy now?”

He began moving again, shaking Oikawa grumpily off of his shoulder, who clapped his hands together gleefully and followed him perkily down the corridor.

“I knew you’d admit it eventually,” he crowed as Iwaizumi halted outside the door, and the smile dropped off Oikawa’s face at Iwaizumi’s serious expression.

“Listen, Oikawa...she’s keeping it together, but barely. Don’t...mention anything sensitive, alright? Keep it light.”

“That’s my speciality,” Oikawa assured him. “But, Iwa-chan, I don’t have to meet her now. I can come back later, when she’s feeling better.”

“That’s a good idea, actually. I’ll ask her. The only thing is, though, you’d have to make a special trip back here. And since you’re here now anyway…” Iwaizumi shrugged, turning the knob. “Wait here.”

He vanished into the room, and Oikawa flattened himself against the wall as the stream of people passed, evading eye contact with anyone. His heart was fluttering much faster than he expected, and he placed a hand over his chest, biting down on his lip. Why was he so anxious? It was just Iwa-chan’s mom. He could charm her, he was always the best at acting the part of the perfect friend, after all.

But he didn’t want to.

This was Iwa-chan, his remaining family. Oikawa didn’t want to insult him by smoothing over his real personality in order to please his mother, and he had a feeling that Iwaizumi would see through it regardless. Then what if his mom didn’t like Oikawa? What then? It was certain that Iwa-chan would listen to his mother and he might break off ties with Oikawa and so if he didn’t make a good first impression would he even be able to see Iwa-chan again?

Oikawa jumped as the door opened next to him, hastily gathering himself together as Iwaizumi blinked at him, frowning.

“Something wrong?”

“No, no, not really...it’s just nerves,” Oikawa explained with a forced smile.

“There’s no need to be worried. She’s nice, I promise.” Iwaizumi gave him a warm smile, gesturing with his hands to ease Oikawa over towards the doorway. “And she’s good to see you now. It isn’t a big deal, so relax, alright?”

“But what if she doesn’t like me?” slipped out of Oikawa’s mouth before he could stop the words from tumbling out shakily. “Then she’ll disapprove of our friendship and I won’t get to see you again and it’ll be so awful-”

Oikawa started at the sensation of Iwaizumi’s hand wrapping around his wrist, tugging him around gently to look at him.  Inhaling with a quiet sweep of breath, Iwaizumi tapped their foreheads together tenderly, not giving Oikawa a chance to avoid his searching eyes.

“It’ll be okay, alright? Trust me.”

Iwaizumi’s words were straightforward, sure, and Oikawa couldn’t come up with any words to counter it, couldn’t think of any of his doubts with Iwaizumi gazing at him so earnestly. He couldn’t help himself closing his eyes, chuckling quietly, to Iwaizumi’s confusion. It was really amazing, how somehow his heart rate was back to normal, how Iwa-chan’s very presence, two sentences, could wipe away his nervousness so easily.

“I do, for some strange reason,” Oikawa answered, stepping away from a bemused Iwaizumi with a grin.

Iwaizumi nodded, choosing not to question why Oikawa randomly began laughing. “Let’s go, then.”

\----

“Oikawa Tooru, right?”

Her voice was weak and crackling, but there was a warmth in it Oikawa couldn’t deny. He nodded and Iwaizumi nudged him forwards, preventing him from loitering uncomfortably near the doorway. Oikawa got pushed all the way to the end of the bed, gaze barely resting on his mother for an instant before glancing away again, chewing on his lower lip quietly.

“I apologise for mistaking you for Shou earlier,” she said, eyes attempting a watery smile. “Hajime told me bits and pieces about you, but I wanted to see you for myself.”

Okay, Oikawa told himself. Act confident, and it’ll come.

He rested down at the foot of the bed, perched on the edge cautiously, and tried to relax his shoulders.

“Flattered to hear that,” Oikawa told her with a smooth grin, crossing his legs and exhaling softly. Not bad, Tooru. “How are you doing?”

Iwaizumi settled himself down on one of the chairs by her bedside, leaning forward briefly to tuck some loose hair behind her ear.

“As well as I could be, considering.” Her smile was painful, and it reminded Oikawa too much about his own practiced one, the one which made him wince every time he saw it in photos or the mirror. A pang of empathy resounded in his chest, a sort of understanding for the art of a brave face.

He nodded to her, sincere and supportive. He understood.

"It appears that you and Hajime are quite fond of each other,” she mentioned, filling in the temporary silence.

Oikawa smiled right back. If only she knew. "You could say that," he chirped out, leaning over to dig a finger into Iwaizumi's side. "We're best friends, although he doesn't like admitting it."

She raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. And your mother’s name is Akira, right?"

"Yeah, it is," Oikawa confirmed. "How did you know that?"

"Because before we moved, we lived on the same street as-"

Her voice cracked off, and Iwaizumi leaned forward, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. "Don't strain yourself. We can always continue this later."

“It’s okay. I’m good to talk a little longer, but then I think I’ll need a rest,” his mother reassured him instantly.

"So were you friends with her?" Oikawa asked, scrunching up his nose. “My mother, I mean.”

"Oh Lord, no. I was the poor single mom everyone in the neighbourhood pitied. After Hajime's father left, I couldn't afford to live there much longer, but everyone knew your father. Oikawa Development, right?"

Oikawa nodded. "That sounds more accurate. I don't think my mother would be friends with anyone she regarded to be less than her." He smiled stiffly. Even her own son, he wanted to say, but he bit down on his tongue. From her sympathetic expression, Oikawa knew she'd gotten the gist of what he wasn't saying anyway.

"So...we never met?" Iwaizumi queried, head tilting ever so slightly to the side.

"No. We used to pass each other on the street, though. I'd have you in my arms and she'd have Oikawa in a little pushchair, and sometimes you used to reach out your hands to him - almost like you were greeting him! I thought it was cute, but she always slapped Oikawa's hand away when he tried to say hi back. Terrible shame, really. But I'm so glad you two found each other in the end." She smiled, and Oikawa and Iwaizumi exchanged a glance. It was a serious look for a second before Oikawa wriggled his eyebrows, and Iwaizumi had to cover his palm with his mouth to withhold a snort of amusement.

"I assume you went to Shiratorizawa?"

Oikawa pulled a face. "Nah, only for middle school. My sis went there, and it was a pain being compared to her all the time. So I went to Aoba Johsai and got beaten constantly by them instead. It was really fun. Also there was this asshole that I really didn’t want to see ever again there.”

"Really? I was going to send Hajime there after Kitagawa Daiichi!"

Oikawa’s lips parted in pleasant surprise, turning to punch Iwaizumi in his shoulder. “Hear that? I could’ve annoyed you for the vast majority of your life!”

Iwaizumi caught his fist in his hand before it could make contact with his shoulder. “Oi, stop it. Honestly, I think I dodged a bullet,” he deadpanned, dropping Oikawa’s hand.

“You really did,” Oikawa agreed readily. “I was sort of a douche back in high school.”

“Wow, I never would’ve guessed that.” Iwaizumi raised his eyebrows, giving Oikawa an utterly unimpressed look.

“My, my, Iwa-chan, you’re so harsh and sarcastic to me,” Oikawa accused, placing both hands over his heart and wobbling the line of his mouth for good measure. “I do think that I would’ve enhanced your life by being in it sooner, you know.”

“Yeah, sure. Definitely.”

“Now you’re just overusing sarcasm,” Oikawa complained, poking at Iwaizumi’s side.

“There’s no such thing,” Iwaizumi replied evenly, swatting Oikawa’s hand away.

“Heh, you two…”

Both of their heads turned towards Iwaizumi’s mother, whose palm was up to her mouth, eyes sparkling as faint chuckles seeped through her fingers. Iwaizumi twisted back to face Oikawa, clearly confused. “Did we do something?”

“I think she finds us amusing,” Oikawa guessed, the corners of his mouth twinging upwards.

“Really? Mom, is he right?” Iwaizumi questioned, eyebrows scrunched together in honest puzzlement. Oikawa thought it was adorable. It kind of made him want to squish his cheeks up and place a kiss on his nose and take cute selfies with him groaning all the time-

“I’m glad Hajime found a friend like you.”

Oikawa blinked, hard, as his eyes grew wider without him consciously willing them to. “What?”

“You heard me, didn’t you?”

“But-” Oikawa faltered, eyes angling downwards as he fiddled with a loose thread on his jeans. “I really think it’s the other way around.”

He could feel Iwaizumi’s gaze on him, fierce and piercing.

“That’s not the case,” he informed Oikawa, and his tone didn’t sound like it was up for discussion.

Oikawa glanced up, and both Iwaizumis were looking at him, and the similarities hit him like a shock of electricity. There was fire in both of their eyes, a sort of protective intensity which made Oikawa want to square his shoulders, want to hold himself straighter and prouder.

“I’ve only known you for a few minutes, but I trust my son’s judgement,” his mother added on, and although her voice was quiet and raspy, unused, it was certain, heard by Oikawa loud and clear.

He swallowed, then exhaled, the sound of this one breath vociferous in the thick of the anticipating air.

“Okay!” Oikawa’s laugh surprised everyone, most of himself. “The two of you are really intimidating! I don’t think I could win this argument, as amazing as I am.”

Both Iwaizumis chuckled, and they smiled in the same way too, their eyes deepening warmly at the sides with a even parting of their lips. Comparing the two of them was quickly becoming one of Oikawa’s favourite hobbies, if he was being honest.

“And as much as I’d like to continue this-” her voice broke off, and Iwaizumi reached for the glass of water on the table beside the bed, holding it up questioningly. She nodded, and Iwaizumi tilted it against her lips, careful not to give her too much at once. Her mouth pressed into a grimace as Iwaizumi patted the stray droplets away from the area surrounding her mouth afterwards, and Oikawa could see how much she hated it, hated not being able to do such simple things herself.

“Rest, Iwaizumi-san, if you need to,” Oikawa said softly. “We’ll be back later.”

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi nodded, squeezing her hand. “Don’t tire yourself out.”

She nodded back, closing her eyes briefly. “In that case, it was lovely to meet you, Oikawa.”

“Please, the honour was all mine,” Oikawa insisted, getting to his feet and offering her a fluid, honed bow.

She snorted, glancing over to Iwaizumi. “He’s quite a charmer, isn’t he?”

“When he wants to be, yeah. Other times, he’s just plain irritating.”

“Hey! I can hear you, you know!”

“That’s the point.”

Misaki watched the two boys - men, she corrected herself, Hajime was grown up now, and so was Oikawa - playfully bicker on, affection evident in both of their gazes, their natural and relaxed posture. She couldn’t remember ever seeing Hajime this open and speaking his mind so freely with anyone but family. It could be because he matured so much, or it could be Oikawa. She had a suspicion it was the latter -  Hajime was reserved by nature, and that didn’t change easily. It was really impressive, she thought, that Oikawa had gotten through to him, enabled him to look so at ease and comfortable.

“How long have you two known each other?”

The men turned to her, and frowns hopped up onto each of their features, almost in sync.

“Good question,” Hajime said finally. “I think it was a couple of days before Kindaichi’s birthday, right?”

Oikawa shook his head. “Couldn’t have been. More like two weeks.”

“It wasn’t that long, was it? Today’s the twelfth, and his birthday was on the sixth, and we’d met up a few days before that.”

“Really? It feels like weeks.”

“Are you sure?”

Misaki hummed thoughtfully, tilting her head to the side. She was beginning to get sleepy, but first…

“Then congratulations, Oikawa.”

Oikawa blinked, very baffled indeed. “For what, exactly?”

“For getting through to Hajime so quickly.”

“He doesn’t deserve to be congratulated for that-” Iwaizumi started, but Oikawa cut across him, beaming at her brightly.

“It was simple, really! I just constantly bothered him until he got used to me!”

Iwaizumi shot him a glower for a moment before sighing, conceding his point. “Fair enough. Apart from when I’ve been working, he’s been stuck to me since we met.”

Misaki closed her eyes, a smile on her face. “Good…”

She sunk deeper down into the sheets, and Oikawa nudged Iwaizumi’s side, whispering, “Should we go now?”

“Yeah, I think she’s getting tired,” Iwaizumi whispered back, standing up. “We’ll see you later, Mom.”

He got a sleepy murmur in response, and Oikawa bade her a gentle goodbye before they left.

\---

"It's mad, isn't it?"

"What is?" Oikawa questioned as they ambled back out into the corridor, on the hunt for breakfast.

"That we almost ended up going to the same school. Well, high school.”

"Yeah! Imagine, us being in the same year! Maybe even the same class, and we could've played volleyball together always, and we could've made it to Nationals if I had a spiker like you on the team..."

Oikawa rambled on happily, Iwaizumi nodding every so often, his mind flipping over into his own wonderings. Growing up with Oikawa, huh? That would've been interesting, to say the least.

"Iwa-chan?"

"Yeah. I would've liked to play on the same team as you too."

"Well, you can! Just turn up to my practice whenever you want, and Sawamura will let you play. Or I'll sulk about it all practice. Ooh, and any official matches that come up I'll make sure to mark you in! The season’s over for now, but next time you’re coming."

"I don't think that's allowed."

"Of course it is! I can bribe Sawamura- well, not directly, but I can ask Suga-kun to sweeten him up a little."

"Thanks, but I'd rather be accepted onto the team of my own merit."

"I've accepted you, and so has the rest of the team, silly! Have you already forgotten that brilliant receive you pulled off? And it was when you were injured, too! I know the rest of the team likes you, so don't worry! We'll be your team from now on, okay?"

Iwaizumi was so surprised that his tongue failed him, and he continued walking alongside Oikawa in stunned silence.

"Christ, Oikawa, that's...really nice of you. Thanks."

"Why are you so shocked?! I'm a nice person!"

"I'm not shocked. More like highly surprised."

"Well, that's something, I guess!" Oikawa leaned sideways, bumping his shoulder into Iwaizumi deliberately.

Iwaizumi didn't say the next thought that was squirming desperately at the edge of his mind, but he had a feeling Oikawa picked up on the general sentiment, from his thoughtful silence.

I could've been there for you all along.

Oikawa hummed quietly, pondering.

"You could've hated me though. I was a little bitch when I was younger. I don't know if we'd even have been friends."

"You're a little bitch now, so I honestly don't think it'd make much of a difference."

"Oh Iwa-chan, you always know how to cheer me right up.” Oikawa placed a hand over his heart in mock gratitude, rolling his eyes.

“Whatever. I need to go get some paperwork, and then we’ll head back, change and get breakfast. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect, Iwa-chan.”

\----

“What was that about?” Oikawa asked as Iwaizumi strode over to him, jaw clenched tight, returning from Hiroka’s desk with papers clasped in his hands.

“Nothing,” he muttered, jabbing the paper in his pocket. “Just forms and stuff.”

Oikawa frowned, having to up his stride to keep up with Iwaizumi’s fast pace, despite his superior height. “Really?”

“Yes, really. It’s none of your business anyway,” Iwaizumi told him flatly, walking ahead of Oikawa ever so slightly, face turned away as they headed back to the apartment.

Oikawa felt his knee twinge in protest and faltered for an instant, but an instant was enough. Iwaizumi’s shoulders relaxed as he halted completely, turning to face Oikawa with a guilty expression.

“Sorry, that was too fast, wasn’t it?”

Oikawa stared at him for a moment, attempting to decode his expression, find out why he was so tense, but all he saw was honest concern, shining through clearly. God damn it.

“Not at all,” Oikawa dismissed him, waving a hand in the air, carefree and light. “It’s just fine, don’t worry!”

“Alright then,” Iwaizumi conceded, but he dropped back to walk beside Oikawa at a much slower pace. His shoulders were still risen ever so slightly higher than normal, and his fists hidden in his jeans pockets.

OIkawa’s teeth caught his lower lip even as he chattered on like usual, but he could barely register what his own mouth was saying, wondering.

\----

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa yelled out into the kitchen, as he skilfully slipped the final contact into his eye, blinking a few times to get it positioned right. “Are you making breakfast or should I?”

He left it a few heartbeats, and then there was still no answer. A suffocating feeling engulfed Oikawa’s chest, and he swallowed, knowing it was that thing from this morning. He’d have to go and confront it now, didn’t he? He couldn’t ignore something very obviously bothering Iwaizumi.

Chewing his lip, Oikawa placed his glasses down on the rim of the sink, padding out into the hallway and cautiously into the kitchen, praying that he could handle this, whatever it was.

"Iwa-chan?" Oikawa asked again, hesitant and slow. Iwaizumi's shoulders were drawn in tight to his body, tensed up and hunched over the kitchen table. Beside him, the last wisps of warmth ghosted up off of a full cup of coffee Oikawa had brewed up a full half an hour beforehand. "What's-"

"Nothing," Iwaizumi cut in, straightening up quickly and folding over the piece of paper in front of him. "I just have to work a bit longer, so I'll be out more often, alright?"

Oikawa didn't respond right away, inside observing how roughly Iwaizumi shoved the paper into his back pocket, watching how his white-knuckled hands gripped the sides of his trousers. The realisation smashed into Oikawa like a blow to the gut.

_He's lying._

Iwaizumi faced him, attempting a grumpy expression, but he was never good at masking over his actual feelings, and both of them knew it.

"What?" He challenged gruffly, sticking his hands down into his pockets.

"What's the letter about, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa persisted, worry rising in him.

"I told you. I'll just have to work a little bit more often, that's all. "

Oikawa frowned as he took a step closer, Iwaizumi's gaze staying strong despite the dense atmosphere.

"But what did it say? Can't you just turn the extra shifts down if you're working enough as it is? And you are working enough! You're like  never here."

Iwaizumi's eyes narrowed.

"I come back whenever I can, so lay off of me."

Oikawa reached for Iwaizumi's arm, but Iwaizumi jerked backwards, lower back hitting off of the countertop. "Oikawa, stop, for fuck's sake."

Oikawa didn't stop, insistently crowding Iwaizumi against the kitchen countertop, planting both hands on either side of him so he couldn't move. He was selfish before, putting Iwaizumi’s best interests aside in favour of peace, but he knew he could help him, if only he would open up to him, get over his pride.  He knew Iwaizumi didn’t like other people knowing about his affairs, or accepting aid, but he would make him, for his own sake.

Oikawa could see a dark flush working its way up Iwaizumi's neck, and from the feel of it, his cheeks and ears were burning crimson too. He tried to ignore it the best he could, ignore how near their bodies were, ignore how tempting Iwaizumi's tantalizing mouth looked. This wasn’t the time.

"Oikawa. Say something." Iwaizumi's voice was thick, as if he had trouble breathing with Oikawa so close. "You're creeping me out."

"Tell me what's on that paper in your pocket," Oikawa said, but his voice, planned to be stubborn and demanding, passed his lips as a whispering question. "I want to help, Iwa-chan, and I can't do that if you don't tell me what's going on in your life."

Iwaizumi sucked in a breath, cold and heavy, as the gears in Oikawa’s mind slotted together. Iwaizumi mentioned something last night,didn’t he? About getting details this morning of….

“It’s about the rehab costs, isn’t it?” Oikawa declared confidently. “ I can help with that! Well maybe not me, but my father definitely could! If I ask him, I’m sure he would-”

Iwaizumi twisted his head away, breaking eye contact as his expression darkened, lips curling up in a half-snarl. That was the only warning Oikawa received before he snapped out, pride driving him to lash out.

"I told you-" here he stepped forward, forcing Oikawa backwards as Iwaizumi's furious gaze registered with him, shock coursing through him. "-I don't need help, least of all your father’s. How many fucking times do I have to repeat the same goddamn thing?" His hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of hair at the back of Oikawa's neck and dragging him down so their eyes met, bare centimetres away from each other. Oikawa's breath froze in his throat. He'd never, ever seen Iwaizumi angry before, and it came so abruptly, so suddenly, that Oikawa was completely flooded. His own anger was the slow kind, the simmering type that build up and then blew up over a little incident. Iwaizumi had just demonstrated what type of anger he possessed -  instantaneous and explosive.

"I don't. Need. Pity. Got it?"

Oikawa was suddenly aware of Iwaizumi's breaths on his lips, rapid and heavy. Chest feeling like it was being crushed to death with a vice, Oikawa tried, "Iwa-chan,  do you pity me?"

Iwaizumi blinked, some of the anger melting off his face to be replaced with surprise. "What? What's that got to do with anything?" His eyebrows twitched up from their downward slant, betraying his confused hesitation.

“You don’t, right?” Oikawa persisted, not allowing Iwaizumi any time to think.

“‘Course not.”

Don't fuck up now, Oikawa prayed. His neck was starting to hurt from the unnatural angle too, and the section of hair Iwaizumi had clutched in his fist was beginning to ache.

"Okay, you don't pity me, so why do you help me?"

Iwaizumi’s reply was instant and sure.

"Because you're my best friend, as stubborn and fucking irritating as you are."

"Exactly. Let me help. As a friend, and not out of pity. To be honest, I don’t even know where you got that idea that I pity you from. You’re way too grumpy to be pitied.”

Iwaizumi’s fingers released Oikawa’s hair slowly, and Oikawa could almost visibly see the gears whirring behind his widening eyes, the slow realisation sinking into his anger and dissolving it as easily as a tissue in a hurricane. His hand slipped over to Oikawa’s shoulder, swallowing thickly. “Sorry, Oikawa...I just…”

He trailed off, gaze dropping to the floor in shame.

“It’s okay,” Oikawa reassured him. “If there’s one thing I understand, it’s becoming too proud.”

Iwaizumi breathed out a long breath, leaning his forehead against Oikawa’s in a gesture of pure relief. He smiled quietly, and suddenly Oikawa really, really wanted to crush his mouth against his.

“Thanks, Oikawa. Honestly.”

Oikawa thought about kissing him.

His face was right there, his lips even closer, and his hand was still on his shoulder, although no longer holding Oikawa down to his level. His decision to stay here, stooped ever so slightly to gaze closely at Iwaizumi, was all his choice.

He almost kissed him.

Oikawa leaned forward a fraction further, and tilted his head, his lips parting as a hand slid around the back of his neck, gently diving into dark, spiked hair. Iwaizumi didn’t move an inch, and that’s when Oikawa hesitated, dragging up his gaze from Iwaizumi’s lips. His chest felt like it could burst wide open at any moment. Iwa-chan’s eyes were shimmering, and, once he saw Oikawa staring, he dropped his head down, pulling back as his hand melted off Oikawa’s shoulder.

“Ah, fuck,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes across his sleeve roughly. “That was… I mean, you weren’t as annoying as usual there. Stop it.”

Oikawa cracked a smile, chuckling lightly as he punched Iwaizumi’s arm.

“What, so you want me to go back to being irritating? I got that covered, don’t worry. Being sappy is hard work, you know! I have a reputation as an asshole to uphold.”

Iwaizumi glanced up at him, eyes damp but with a grateful smile spreading wider and wider across his lips with every second that passed. Warmth shot through Oikawa at the sight, and he thought how lucky he was to have this man in front of him right now, his best friend. He grinned back, Iwaizumi’s gaze grew softer than ever, and Oikawa’s chest swelled with a deep appreciation.

Then he was moving, faster than Oikawa could react, a palm slipping over his cheek to cradle the side of his face perfectly, thumb flowing across the arch of his cheekbone. Rocking forwards onto the balls of his feet, Iwaizumi tenderly pressed his lips upwards against Oikawa’s, supple and shapely and everything Oikawa had ever imagined.

His mind was swept blank, and he forgot how to breathe.

But it was okay, okay because Iwaizumi's lips were doing the work for him, lifting life into his body and every cell, slanting against his own mouth elegantly, flawlessly subtle and reverent. He tasted like the scents Oikawa associated with home, Miyagi, woody tones with a hint of something so Iwa-chan it was difficult for Oikawa to place it with anything else but him. He lifted a hand, shaky, as if his brain still couldn’t quite process this, and allowed it to slip around Iwaizumi’s neck. He could feel the slow graze of Iwaizumi’s rough palm as it gradually slid back across his cheek, fingers nimbly threading back through his hair, feel how burning hot his skin was, feel Iwaizumi’s deep brown hair rustling against his slender fingers.

 _Amazing_.

Iwaizumi pulled back after what was probably a few moments - Oikawa thought they were mere milliseconds, much too short for his liking. His lips were red, cheeks flushed  as he glanced downwards, dropping his hand from Oikawa’s face.

 _Gorgeous_ , flitted through Oikawa’s head.

“Uh...sorry. You just looked- I couldn’t help-”

Oikawa grabbed the front of his shirt, yanked him in and kissed him again, effectively sealing off whatever excuse he was about to make. Oikawa inhaled sharply, hot adrenaline drenching every single one of his limbs as he draped his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck, tugging him in closer. This time, Iwaizumi wasn't as hesitant and uncertain, one of his hands sliding down to run around Oikawa's waist, drawing their bodies closer together. Their lips parted almost on cue, and Oikawa was the one who drove the kiss deeper, more heated, content to feel Iwaizumi's fingers tighten around his hair. He let out a quiet sigh against Iwaizumi's mouth, sensing him smile into the kiss, quirking the edges of his lips upwards. They separated with a tiny gasp from Oikawa, but neither let go of each other. A few moments passed in silence, Iwaizumi's cheeks growing more and more flustered with every second Oikawa gazed at him.

"Why so embarrassed, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa said lightly, angling his head to the side, and knowing that his own face was just as heated. He saw Iwaizumi swallow thickly, licking his lips as his arm tensed around Oikawa's lower back.

"I just can't believe you kissed me back."

Oikawa grinned widely, his eyes crinkling up at the sides, sincere and happy and so beautiful Iwaizumi really couldn't believe he'd just kissed him. And he’d kissed him back. Christ, was this a dream?

"Obviously I did! If I let someone with your set of abs slip through my fingers I'd need to seriously check my priorities."

Iwaizumi massaged his fingers through Oikawa's hair, pleased to hear the soft noise of Oikawa's contented hum in response. "Is that all you see when you look at me? My six pack?"

"'Course not!" Oikawa chirped cheerfully. He couldn't stop smiling. "I see your beautifully muscled arms too, you know!"

"Jesus, why do I like you so much?" Iwaizumi muttered with a crooked smile, bending forward so their foreheads rested against each other comfortably.

"Because I'm absolutely flawless. Need I remind you of that?" Oikawa answered confidently, raking one hand back through Iwaizumi's hair.

Iwaizumi closed his eyes briefly, savouring the sensation of Oikawa's lithe fingers dragging down his scalp, exhaling heavily. "Maybe you have a point."

"So, I think this is the part where you ask me to go out with you. Or to fuck me. It's yes to both, by the way," Oikawa winked, a hand sliding down Iwaizumi's torso suggestively.

"Fuck, Oikawa- Jesus, don't do that-" Iwaizumi cursed, grasping Oikawa's hand in his tightly. "We've just started to - wait, what are we doing?"

"We're dating now," Oikawa announced surely. "You're my boyfriend."

Iwaizumi blinked, a grin slowly spreading over his face. "That sounds good to me."

"Great, because you kissed me first and didn't have a choice anyway," Oikawa told him, playfully tugging at his hair.

"It's nice to know how much my opinion matters to you," Iwaizumi complained back.

"Okay, okay, fine," Oikawa huffed. "If you wanna be sappy and romantic and ask me out by getting down on one knee and presenting me with a ring I won't object."

"We're not getting married."

"You never know!”

“We got together roughly two seconds ago and you’re talking about marriage.”

“I am known for my amazing gift of predicting the future.”

“I think you might scare me off,” Iwaizumi deadpanned.

Oikawa laughed, but it was a slight bit too high pitched. “You’re so funny, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi sighed, brushing his lips against Oikawa’s jawline. “You know I’m not going to leave, right? I’d be gone by now if I was going to be scared off that easily.”

Oikawa relaxed in Iwaizumi’s arms, smiling. “I know. I’m sorry if I get insecure at times.”

In reply, Iwaizumi leaned in again, his lips meeting Oikawa’s effortlessly. Oikawa didn’t protest, and it was a few moments before he couldn’t kiss Iwaizumi properly, he was smiling so widely. Iwaizumi’s eyes creased up in understanding as he pulled back slightly, nudging their noses together.

“I just want to kiss you constantly,” he said simply. “Especially when you smile like that.”

Oikawa stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed, as his whole face was slowly engulfed in red. "How can you be embarrassed by kissing, and not by saying that?!"

Iwaizumi blinked. "Was that embarrassing?"

"Of course it was! It was sappy and lame and really endearing-" Oikawa paused, then his gaze dropped to Iwaizumi's mouth yet again. "And it makes me want to - well, just come here."

“Smooth,” Iwaizumi commented, but that was he could say before Oikawa’s mouth was covering his sweetly, drawing out all his breath from his body.

"Anyways," Oikawa declared firmly as he broke off the kiss, seizing Iwaizumi's chin between his fingers. "We were arguing, and I was about to win."

Iwaizumi groaned lengthily. "But we kissed and got together. I thought was that supposed to fix everything."

"Oh, trust me. I've kissed a lot of people and it never made relationships work any better.  Now tell me what's in-" Oikawa hesitated, gaze breaking away from Iwaizumi's for an instant. "Tell me how I can help. I'm not stupid, Iwa-chan. If you need to work more - if you need more money, all you have to do is ask."

"No. That's taking advantage of you," Iwaizumi answered stubbornly, grasping Oikawa's wrist and pulling it down from his face. "All I ask is that you continue to allow me to stay in your apartment for now. I can handle the rest. I wasn’t lying about having to work more. I’m going to be gone for...well, quite a bit of time.”

Oikawa frowned. “But you’ll be coming back in the evenings, right?”

Iwaizumi shook his head. “Maybe for an hour or two a few days a week.”

“What about weekends? Surely you must have a break then.”

“I can’t, Oikawa. What I need to pay is over three times what I’m used to. I have some money I’ve saved, but it’s really not a lot. Like the seventeen-year old idiot I was, I let the health insurance lapse, and I couldn’t afford to take it out again, so I’m on my own.”

“Then - then let me help out! My father is -”

“No,” Iwaizumi interrupted. “I don’t want you giving me any money or asking your father for anything.”

“But - Iwa-chan, please,” Oikawa pleaded, grasping Iwaizumi’s arm. “Stop being so proud and let me help you out, even a little! I may be shit in the emotional department, but this is one thing I can do for you. So let me give you some money.”

“I can’t possibly do that-”

“What is it with you?” Oikawa demanded, voice rising. “It’s so stupid that you just won’t accept it! Your ridiculous pride-”

_This worthless pride of mine._

Oikawa stopped dead, his own words echoing in his mind.

_You better remember it._

“Oikawa?”

Iwaizumi’s voice was low, full of concern, and Oikawa didn’t answer.

“What’s wrong?”

Oikawa felt him hesitantly clasp his hand in his, and Oikawa swallowed thickly.

“I’m such a fucking hypocrite. I can’t even get over my own pride, and I’m telling you to disregard yours.”

Iwaizumi’s gaze narrowed, trying to work the statement out. He wasn’t there, Oikawa realised. And he’d never told him about the confrontation between him and Ushijima. He likely hadn’t a clue about what he was referring to.

“About how you don’t go back to the national team? I know you have a few year’s ban for using steroids, but that would be up now, wouldn’t it?” Iwaizumi guessed, squeezing Oikawa’s hand.

How about that, he was as close as he could possibly be.

“Not exactly,” Oikawa mumbled, holding his head low. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh.” Iwaizumi blinked, as if realising something. “You couldn’t go back because of your knee, right? I forgot about that, sorry.”

Oikawa shook his head. “It’s not just that. I could probably cope with being a sub - physically, anyways.”

“So what were you referring to?” Iwaizumi inquired further, and a shot of defensiveness flared up in Oikawa.

“I told you, it doesn’t matter. You aren’t telling me about you, so why should I have to open up to you?” Oikawa snapped out, yanking his hand out of Iwaizumi’s roughly.

The instant the words had been ripped from his lips, Oikawa regretted them. Iwaizumi’s eyes widened, then narrowed, and for an instant Oikawa was afraid he was about to become angry again. But that wasn’t the case.

“You guessed it anyway,” Iwaizumi said softly, gaze falling to his hands, intertwining and twisting around each other. “It’s the rehab costs. They’re….quite a bit more than the intensive care costs. I’ve just arranged new hours for me, and, as I told you, I’ll be out a lot more.”

Oikawa gazed at him, trying not to keep his face from crumbling down into despair. He didn’t want that. He wanted to spend every moment with Iwa-chan. “But…”

He couldn’t think of anything. Iwaizumi wouldn’t take his father’s money because of his stupid, stupid pride. He always had to deal with everything on his own, didn’t he?

“It’s my responsibility, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi breathed out. “It shouldn’t be your problem. Forget about it.”

“Didn’t I say I wanted to help?”

“Help is not taking money I know I’ll never be able to repay.”

“You won’t have to repay him.”

“For this amount, I would have to. And it’ll look weird, you asking for a massive sum of money just like that.”

“Then I’ll get it in small amounts, so you won’t have to work as much,” Oikawa told him, tilting his face up stubbornly.

Sighing, Iwaizumi ran a hand back through his hair, meeting Oikawa’s eyes with loaded frustration. “How about you give me a small fraction of the cost so I can get an extra hour off a week?”

“That’s nothing.” Oikawa folded his arms across his chest, straightening out his posture like he did when haggling. “I’ll give you enough for five hours’ work every day.”

“Don’t talk about it like it’s your own earned money,” Iwaizumi blew out a sigh in exasperation, checking his phone. “Look, I need to get ready to leave, so we’ll continue this later, alright?”

Oikawa blinked, surprised. “You’re going to work already?”

“I can’t afford to waste any time,” Iwaizumi explained, brushing past Oikawa.

Their shoulders bumped into each other, and Oikawa spun around, grasping onto Iwaizumi’s wrist tightly. Iwaizumi stopped, quietly rotating back around, eyes waiting for Oikawa to speak.

And speak he did, voice quiet and sincere.

“Please. Take care of yourself.”

Iwaizumi sucked in a breath, stepping forward. Into Oikawa’s personal space, palms circling his face, foreheads touching together. He cared, Iwaizumi thought as he felt Oikawa’s fingers hang onto the front of his hoodie, hesitantly curling up in anticipation. He really cares.

Iwaizumi hadn’t known anyone this close to him who cared this much before, not in years, not since his brother was alive.

“You didn’t answer me,” Oikawa uttered lowly, hands tense.

“I’ll try my best,” Iwaizumi told him, observing how Oikawa’s eyes creased up ever so slightly when he was upset and trying not to show it. “My mother comes first. You know that.”

“Not for me,” Oikawa told him softly, pressing his lips lightly against Iwaizumi’s.

It was over in an instant, and then Oikawa was retreating, pushing against Iwaizumi’s chest deliberately, avoiding eye contact. “You should probably go now.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi agreed flatly, wanting to feel Oikawa’s warmth against his chest again.

“When will you be back?” Oikawa asked, swallowing as one hand rubbed up his forearm, gaze meeting Iwaizumi’s eyes for a brief moment before darting away.

“Sometime tonight, I think. You’ll probably be asleep.”

Oikawa smiled at him, but it was thin and diluted. “You sure about that?”

“Well, you should be,” Iwaizumi amended, taking a step backwards and raising a hand in farewell. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Okay,” Oikawa said quietly, holding up his hand in a polite goodbye.

He stood there numbly as the door clicked shut, knowing he should be delighted. Him and Iwa-chan got together, after all! What more did he want? What more could he want? 

With a sigh, Oikawa slumped down onto a chair, suddenly feeling very lonely indeed. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if im happy w the kiss scene i don’t think im happy with it i dont think im happy with the kiss scene i dontthink imhappywithit and im freaking out should i slot it in somewhere else??  
> should I be updating? probably not but there's exams in a few weeks and i'm fuCKING - the teachers are striking and basically i am completely stressed out how are we supposed to get everything covered i  
> anyways  
> as usual, thank you to all the people who comment who literally make up 90% of my motivation, it's so great to see other people enjoying this! and now, I'd like to thank all the silent readers who read this, just because you read it. thank you to you too.  
> UPDATES EVERY MONTH APPARENTLY BeCAUSE THAT'S THE WAY IT'S WORKING OUT  
> except for the next chapter because it's going to be small and it was originally part of this one but then it'd be too long and ugh i am going to go and bake some fucking good ass cookies now.  
> have a good day, everyone.  
> (oh, one last thing. chapter 15? about to be a fucking, total shitstorm. particularly for oiks. seriously, i cannot wait to write it. )  
> (another thing: will be finishing this up within the next few chapters. i do have a plan for the ending now. after all the angst of course.)  
> (this note is way too long i am sorry)


	14. im back with the gayest chapter yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> iwaizumi's day off, because oiks forced him to take a break. fluff!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if i’m late replying to your comments, i’m just...not used to getting so many, and all so gorgeous??? I come from a humble, tiny fandom which had like maybe max. 300 people actively taking part in it (I got two comments if I was lucky!!) so now i’m just like ??!!!! and a lil overwhelmed, but in a very good way!!! and I’m so glad you’re all liking it so much like I’m so grateful to you all for reading and oops I’m getting sappy just take this fucking fluff please  
> also if you squint at the tags another one has been added ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )  
> AND THANK YOU FOR ALL THE WISHES ON MY EXAMS I'M KICKING THEIR ASSES YOU'RE ALL SUCH SWEETHEARTS

 

Oikawa touched his lips lightly, thinking. He was good at that. He should be able to figure out a solution to this, how to maneuver around Iwaizumi’s pride to aid him with the money needed, all to keep him by Oikawa’s side longer. He didn’t want things to go back to the way they were before he met Iwa-chan, that was for certain. Flopping over onto his beck, Oikawa stared up at the ceiling, actions slotting into place, being taken out again and reformed, altered to fit the situation. It was a procedure he hadn’t done for ages, usually the night before the match, after he’d analysed the players’ mindsets and familiarised himself with their techniques and habits for hours on end. Following that ritual, counter-tactics normally came easily.

For some reason, it wasn’t working this time.

It’s because this isn’t a match, Oikawa inwardly sighed, slinging his forearm across his eyes. It’s Iwa-chan and his stubbornness which are working against me, not an enemy. I can’t exactly break down his mental state on purpose to get what I want.

With a short exhale of frustration, Oikawa pulled out his phone, hoping for a distraction from the silence of the apartment. It wasn’t really his apartment when Iwaizumi wasn’t here. Scrolling through his messages - he should really reply to Sugawara, but he felt like being a cunt, so that wasn’t happening - one eyebrow rose, recognising the title of one group chat.

help oikawa get iwa’s dick 2k16

Huh, I forgot about that one, Oikawa mused, clicking into it. Maybe I should update them.

He couldn’t help smiling, brushing his fingertips off of his mouth yet again. Despite the shitty financial situation, at least Iwa-chan had finally kissed him.

 

 **desperately thirsty:** guess what

 **short** : you accidentally chopped your entire fringe off again

 **short** : I still have that wig if you need it

 **short** : or is it the thing with the blender

 **desperately** **thirsty** : yAKU YOU SWORE NEVER TO SPEAK ABOUT THAT

 **desperately** **thirsty** : also I know how to properly operate a blender now excuse you

 **short** : whoops

 **little** **shit** : o shit mr perfect did that??

 **desperately** **thirsty** : fuck off kuroo

 **desperately** **thirsty** : it was a total accident

[little shit added Takahiro Hanamaki and Matsukawa Issei]

 **desperately** **thirsty** : oh no why did you add them why did you add them why did you add them

 **Matsukawa** : bc we're the shit

 **Hanamaki** : the ultimate gay power couple

 **Hanamaki** : also nice group chat name v accurate

 **little** **shit** : need some nicknames up in here

[Takahiro's nickname is now high or just disinterested??  ]

 **high** **or** **just** **disinterested??:** I approve. and I will not confirm which one it is.

 **little shit:** good i dont want to know

 **little shit:** the thing is i really cant tell

[Matsukawa's nickname is now extreme monobrow ]

 **extreme** **monobrow** : yo my bitches. monobitches.

 **high** **or just** **disinterested??:** hi im his main bitch

 **extreme monobrow:** he thinks

 **high or just disinterested??** : wanna fckn fight me

 **extreme monobrow** : wanna fckn suck my dick

 **high or just disinterested??:** I know thats supposed to be an insult but I kinda wanna do it

 **extreme monobrow:** ;) ;) ;)

 **short** : anyway ignoring all that irrelevant plain weird bullshit

 **short** : what is it oikawa

 **desperately** **thirsty** : ME AND IWA-CHAN KISSED

 **extreme** **monobrow** : kl

 **little** **shit** : *iwa-chan and I

 **short** : now is not the right time to correct grammar kuroo

 **little** **shit** : its always the right time to correct grammar

 **short** : *it’s

 **little** **shit:** please fuck off

 **desperately** **thirsty** : WHY ARE YOU NOT EXCITED AND SURPRISED AT THIS???!!!!

 **little** **shit** : tbh its about time I've been telling him to for ages

 **high or just disinterested??:** who kissed who first

 **extreme** **monobrow** : if u bring up the fact that you had to kiss me first again takahiro I stg im not buying you any cream puffs for a week

 **high** **or** **just** **disinterested??:** will u still eat them off my naked body

 **short** : whoa okay that escalated a lil quickly

 **extreme** **monobrow** : how could I resist an offer like that

 **desperately** **thirsty** : WHY IS NOBODY PAYING ATTENTION TO ME!!!!!!

 **little** **shit** : that's iwa's job now

 **high** **or** **just** **disinterested??:** yeah now you can tell all ur fuckin gross sex dreams to him instead

 **extreme** **monobrow** : especially since they'll probably all be about him

 **high or just disinterested??:** he'd be v flattered to know about them

 **extreme** **monobrow** : if he doesn't vomit

[desperately thirsty's nickname is now just plain thirsty ]

 **little shit:** that was akaashi's work I can tell

 **short** : hi akaashi

 **high or just disinterested??:** the hot akaashi?

 **extreme monobrow:** v hot akaashi

 **mr. suave:** hello kuroo. Matsukawa and Hanamaki.

 **high or just disinterested??:** ayyyy

 **extreme monobrow:** what's ur number

 **little** **shit** : he's taken

 **extreme** **monobrow** : so am I

 **mr** . **suave** : it's 03-6789-9840

 **little** **shit** : but thats bokutos number

 **high or just disinterested??:** how dare you try and reject my bf

 **high or just disinterested??:** to be fair tho ur way too hot for him

 **mr. suave:** I just thought he might get on well with bokuto-san

 **little shit:** do you direct everyone who tries to hit on you to bokuto

 **mr. suave** : yes. they usually give up after that.

 **little shit:** its wrong to use people for their annoyingness

 **mr.suave:** isn’t that why kenma made friends with you tho

 **little shit:** i made friends with him first

 **mr. suave:** I’m sure you believe that. my point was, kenma doesn’t want to deal with unnecessary people, and you help keep them away. I’m sure he’s very grateful for you.

 **short** : that oddly makes sense??

 **little** **shit** : ..............

 **high or just disinterested??:** great work u broke him

 **little shit:** hold on I must discuss something with kenma

 **extreme monobrow:** wonder what it is

 **just plain thirsty:** HELLO!!!!!!!!!!

 **just plain thirsty:** I ECOSYSTEM!!!

 **short:** ecosystem??

 **high or just disinterested??:** I also identify as an ecosystem

 **just plain thirsty:** FUCK

 **just plain thirsty** : EXIST!!! I EXIST!!!

 **mr. suave:** oh, hello oikawa. how are you?

 **just plain thirsty:** FANTASTIC BUT NOBODY SEEMS TO CARE!!!!!!

 **little shit:** chill

 **just plain thirsty:** YOU DROVE ALL THE WAY TO MY APARTMENT IN A PANIC TO TALK TO IWA-CHAN AFTER YOU KISSED KENMA YOU DON'T GET TO TELL ME TO CHILL

 **just plain thirsty:** jerk.

 **extreme monobrow:** slay oiks slaaaay

 **short** : did oikawa just use a full stop

 **high or just disinterested??:** gettin fuckin serious up in here

 **little shit:** shut up dickwad

 **little shit:** i had a legit reason

 **just plain thirsty:** yeah and it’s being a little bitch

 **extreme monobrow:** oooooOOOOOOOOOOHHH

 **high or just disinterested??:** fucking wrecked

 **little shit:** who added them into this chat

 **short:** you did

 **little shit:** shut the fuck up yaku

 **little shit** : you're short

 **short:** you know what

 **short** : i just had a thought

 **short** : you'd look better bald

 **short** : yeah that is a threat

 **short** : sleep with one eye open jackass

 **just plain thirsty:** tbh he would look good bald

 **little shit:** yaku if you touch my hair I swear to fuck

 **short:** whatcha gonna do

 **high or just disinterested??:** pls do it

 **extreme monobrow:** ill pay u to shave his head

 **short:** how much

 **extreme monobrow:** like four bjs

 **short:** I have a girlfriend get your gay shit out of my face

 **extreme monobrow:** no everyone loves blowjobs

 **just plain thirsty** : ur such a slut

 **extreme monobrow** : your point?

 **high or just disinterested??:** says you

 **extreme monobrow:** we have a free and open relationship we can hit on ppl as long as the others there while we do it

 **little shit:** ????

 **just plain thirsty:** kuroo you cant do that you slapped iwa-chan's precious ass

 **just plain thirsty:** that's mine now haha losers

 **short** : we literally do not care about iwa's ass

 **just plain thirsty:**  how can you not???

 **short:** not all people are gay????

 **high or just disinterested??:** W H A T

 **extreme monobrow:** BUT WE PLAY SPORTS WITH BALLS HOW CAN YOU BE STRAIGHT IT’S NOT POSSIBLE

 **mr. suave:** volleyball is less gay than ice skating, though.

 **high or just disinterested??:** *john cena voice* are you sure about that

 **mr. suave:** please remove your memes from my presence immediately.

 **little shit:** YOU MUST BE BI AT LEAST

 **mr. suave:** but you’re oikawa’s friend I didn’t think it was possible for him to have straight friends

 **just plain thirsty:** yeah yaku it’s like a requirement if you want to be friends w me

 **short:** stop

 **short:** what about ushijima then

 **just plain thirsty:** he’s not friends with me

 **short:** he seems to think so

 **just plain thirsty:** no I hate him. or at least strongly dislike.

 **short** : why

 **just plain thirsty:** what do you mean why

 **short** : why do you dislike him

 **just plain thirsty:** because I do

 **high or just disinterested??:** i feel this conversation gettin serious im out

 **extreme monobrow:** wanna make out

 **high or just disinterested??:** hell yes

 **little shit:** aaaaaaand theyre gone

 **little shit:** thank fuck

 **extreme monobrow:** did u say smth

 **little shit:** no

 **high or just disinterested??:** thats what we thought

 **short** : oikawa you can’t hold a grudge from high school forever

 **just plain thirsty:** watch me.

 **short** : it’s been five years and he’s trying to be friends with you but you won’t let him

 **just plain thirsty:** does it look like I care

 **short** : it’s not good for either of you

 **just plain thirsty:** if I wanted to hear this I would’ve rang my mother

 **short** : oikawa. this isn’t the way to deal with things

 **just plain thirsty:** when did you become a therapist

 **short** : when you decided to be a bitter bitch about things that don’t matter any more

 

Glaring at his phone, Oikawa closed the app promptly, locking his phone with so much force the top of the plastic case cracked.

“Oh, just perfect,” Oikawa spat out, not even bothering to examine the crack before chucking his phone onto the coffee table, leaning back with a tight pout, arms crossed over his chest. “Fucking perfect.”

Iwa-chan couldn’t spend any time with him, and now Yaku was on his case about Ushijima, of all people?

Sighing, Oikawa bent over, picked up his laptop and nestled it between his legs, tucking them in underneath him. If Ushijima wanted to befriend him, he shouldn’t have been such a dick back in high school, Oikawa thought sourly, browsing down the long list of mildly decent sci-fi movies.

His head snapped up at the sound of his vibrating phone clattering noisily against the wood, gaze narrowing. Yaku, probably. Oikawa, expression blank, lowered his head and returned to scrolling down the webpage.

He let the phone ring out, and it fell silent finally, ten whole minutes later.

\---

Four days passed.

Oikawa, half-asleep, finally heard what he was waiting for. Hauling himself upwards off of the blanket-infested couch, he yawned, rubbing at his eye, wondering if he dreamed the sound of a key fumbling in the lock. A quick glance at the clock told him it was four in the morning. It was very possible that he imagined the slight noise. He was about to check his phone to see if Iwa-chan had returned any of his many calls and texts when the noise rang out again, along with a click, and soft, cautious footsteps.

Oikawa sloppily slipped off of the couch, grabbing his glasses on the coffee table before hastily  staggering into the hallway. He hadn’t seen Iwaizumi for almost an entire day, and even then it was only a brief goodbye with a sleepy-eyed Oikawa and a quick kiss. Oikawa was certain that they hadn’t been separated for this long since they met first, and it was pathetic, really, how much he already missed having him around.

"You're awake? Sorry, did I wake you up?"

Through bleary vision, Oikawa launched himself at Iwaizumi, almost knocking him back into the door.

"You're home! Why are you back so late?!" Oikawa demanded, brushing his lips across Iwaizumi's cheek.

"Why are you still up? You should be asleep by now," Iwaizumi countered, arms warm around Oikawa's back.

"Waiting for you, obviously," Oikawa told him, turning his head to kiss him briefly, breaking away with a mock stern expression. "You didn't tell me when you were coming back, and I couldn't sleep anyways."

"Sorry," Iwaizumi apologised, squeezing Oikawa closer to him. "I didn't have access to a charger, and I must've accidentally left stuff running in the background, so it died."

"You worried me," Oikawa murmured huffily, hands cupping Iwaizumi's face as he narrowed his eyes at him. "Never do that again, or I'm kicking you out."

Iwaizumi offered him a tired smile before pulling away, rubbing at his face in exhaustion, deep hollows encircling his eyes. "I got it. Look, I'm wrecked, so can we please just go to bed?"

"When was the last time you ate?" Oikawa asked skeptically, eying up Iwaizumi’s slouched shoulders.

Iwaizumi frowned, heaving a deep sigh. "I don't know. I'm just going to sleep now." He brushed past Oikawa, who placed a hand on his hip, shooting a suspicious look after him before following. "I'm going to shove some rice down your throat if you don't answer me."

Iwaizumi groaned as he passed into their bedroom, shoulders drooping as he rooted around for an old t-shirt. "I dunno. Maybe like....lunchtime? I got something in the shop at work."

"Iwa-chan! That's over twelve hours ago!" Oikawa accused as Iwaizumi grasped a shirt in his hand and tugged it out, giving Oikawa a worn, tired look.

"I'm fine. I don't feel hungry, anyway."

"No," Oikawa told him firmly. "You're eating something."

Sliding his jacket off of his shoulders, Iwaizumi dragged a hand down his face. "I only have two hours before I have to go again, so I'd like to spend that time sleeping, alright?"

"I'm going to make you something. I'll be back in a few minutes," Oikawa declared as Iwaizumi stripped off his shirt, but Oikawa refused to let his fine abdomen distract him., or Iwaizumi's protests as he strode out of the room. He mightn't be the greatest cook, but he knew how to use a microwave, and could be considered the master of pot ramen.

\---

“I’m back,” Oikawa notified Iwaizumi as he walked back into the room, palms wrapped around a steaming plastic cup.

Iwaizumi didn’t respond, probably due to the fact that he was passed out on the bed, bare chest pressed up against the mattress and his jeans hanging off of his ankles. From the looks of it, Oikawa figured as he placed down the pot on the dresser, he simply fell asleep before he even got his jeans off or sleeping t-shirt on.

“Such a silly man,” Oikawa tutted, lifting his legs properly onto the bed, gently tugging off his jeans and socks completely. He rolled Iwaizumi over, wondering whether to wake him up or not. He took a moment to gaze down at him, his relaxed eyebrows, slightly open mouth, the sound of his tiny, infrequent snores diffusing into the air.

“Ah…” Oikawa breathed out, unable to stop himself from outstretching a hand to ghost tenderly across Iwaizumi’s cheek. “You’re too gosh darn cute to disturb. I guess I’ll just eat the ramen myself and force-feed you when you wake up.”

He rustled around his room a bit, found a spare blanket, and draped it over Iwaizumi as he quickly changed into his pyjamas. Grabbing the ramen pot, he plopped down cross-legged on the floor, curling his palms around the hot plastic and pulled out his phone. He didn’t want to leave to watch tv in the sitting room. He could do that any time he wanted, when Iwa-chan wasn’t here. He didn’t really want to be on his phone either.

He wanted to talk to Iwaizumi, but he couldn’t.

Not unless he wanted to be selfish and wake him up, just to annoy him and see how his cheeks darkened with every gentle kiss Oikawa brushed against his mouth and feel his hands travel up his thighs to cradle his hips and sense his gaze on his back when he thought he wasn’t looking and go entirely red when Oikawa caught him and he wanted to cuddle up on the sofa to rewatch Mulan with him and-

Oikawa blinked, and suddenly his phone screen was just a blur of light.

Putting aside the noodles, Oikawa wiped his eyes and stood up, silently climbing into bed beside Iwaizumi. He curled up facing him, leaning forward to rest his forehead against his. Iwaizumi’s breathing was slow and repetitive, even, a comfort to Oikawa’s ears, soothing his mind. He closed his eyes, listening. Just listening.

Iwaizumi was here with him, he assured himself.

Even if it didn’t feel like it.

\---

Iwaizumi hated leaving.

He could stand being so busy that he barely had time to eat, stand working on two hours of sleep a day, but leaving Oikawa? He couldn't.

But he had to.

Iwaizumi pressed his nose against the back of Oikawa's neck, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. He loved the way the shortest hairs at the back defied his styling and curled up stubbornly, did their own thing. He loved the subtle tinge of vanilla that clung to Oikawa's pale skin, loved how Oikawa was murmuring softly in his sleep, even loved his irritating habit of clinging onto Hajime when in a dream. He liked it, in a way, despite it being highly uncomfortable. It was endearing.

Iwaizumi pulled away carefully, unwrapping his arms from around Oikawa's torso gently. He bent over one last time to lay a soft kiss on his temple, breathing out, "I'll be back soon," quietly.

Sometimes, he wished he could take Oikawa's offer of taking his father's money, but he couldn't, whether from stubbornness or pride, he didn't know. What he was certain of though, was that his mother was his responsibility and his alone. Oikawa was kind, but Iwaizumi couldn't bring himself to ask him to lie to his father to get money. Especially not this much money. It would simply be asking too much of him, taking advantage. And every cell in Iwaizumi's body was already set against accepting charity from others. With a sigh - quiet, almost inaudible, he didn't want to wake Oikawa - Iwaizumi carefully clambered out of bed, making sure to drape the blanket back up over Oikawa's shoulders. Oikawa hummed in his sleep, eyebrows twitching as he shifted. Iwaizumi froze, holding his breath, but Oikawa didn't wake. Yet Iwaizumi was still extra cautious when dressing himself, just in case. He knew how easily Oikawa could be disturbed.

In less than a minute, he was ready to leave the bedroom. His feet stilled at the doorway, and he looped back to the bed, where Oikawa was still conked out completely. Gently, ever so mindfully as to not wake him, Iwaizumi cupped his hands around his cheeks and rested his lips against his forehead, some outcast strands of Oikawa’s beautiful bedhead tickling his upper lip.

“I’ll see you soon,” Iwaizumi promised him softly, straightening up.

He let without another second glance.

Because he knew, if he had glanced back again, he would’ve stayed.

\-----

When Oikawa woke, Iwaizumi was gone. Light -headed and through fuzzy vision, Oikawa groped around the bed, around the warmth that indicated yes, Iwaizumi had been there. Not so long ago, from the heat seeping up into his palm. With a sigh, he dropped his face back down into the mattress, wondering how Iwaizumi managed to sneak past him when he was such a light sleeper. Then again, he hadn't been sleeping much lately, either. It was hard to go back to an empty bed when he'd felt the comforting hold of Iwaizumi's arms.

"Ah, fuck," Oikawa groaned, rolling over onto his back. Honestly, it sort of felt like he and Iwaizumi weren't dating at all. He was pretty sure he used to see the girls he wasn't interested in more regularly than this, and that's saying something.

"Maybe it's karma," Oikawa muttered. "A taste of my own medicine."

That brought a bitter smile to his lips. He couldn't keep anything good, could he? And even when everything was going well, something like this always happened.

"Ugh, stop moaning," Oikawa complained to himself, hauling himself into a sitting position, one arm slung over a bent knee. He sighed again.

He missed Iwa-chan so fucking much.

\-----

Five hours later, Oikawa's phone rang, successfully waking him from a weak attempt at fitful amounts of sleep. Though his eyes were open, they were still bleary, and the kanji were unreadable in the blur of light.

Fuck it, he thought.

"Yeah?" He yawned out, rolling over onto his back.

A very unwelcome voice blasted into his ear. "Yo, bitch, you gotta come over here and help me move Iwaizumi's unconscious ass into bed."

Oikawa woke up very, very quickly. "What? Iwa-chan's unconscious? Kuroo, tell me everything," he demanded, shovelling back the sheets and stumbling out of bed.

"Well, he collapsed at the store, I'm his emergency contact so they called me and here I am, stuck with a passed-out overgrown hedgehog on my floor. He's fucking heavy, I'm tired from lugging him out of the car, Kenma refuses to help me, Akaashi and Bokuto are off visiting a bird sanctuary or something, so yeah. Trust me, you weren't my first choice," Kuroo finished up dryly as Oikawa was darting around his room, frantically searching for clean socks.

"If he collapsed, why isn't he in hospital?!"

"Oh yeah, he was. They checked him over and said it was just exhaustion and lack of food, so they pretty much told me to get him the fuck out so they could use the bed for a guy with a spinal fracture or something."

Oikawa frowned, hastily yanking on one sock that covered his entire calf, and another that barely concealed his ankle. "Really? They just kicked you out? Yachi wouldn’t-"

"'Course not, moron. I took him."

"Why?!"

"He asked me."

"I thought he was unconscious!"

"Nah, he woke up for a few minutes and mumbled something about not being able to stay in hospital. I'd never tried a hospital jailbreak before, so I might've taken it as a challenge. Plus, it wasn't as if he couldn't rest at my place."

"You're fucking insane," Oikawa hissed out, fumbling with the laces to his shoes, phone crooked firmly between ear and shoulder. "I cannot believe Iwa-chan is friends with you. He should be in hospital still, no matter what he said! He was probably not in his right mind either! I can't-" Oikawa sighed, cutting himself off before it dissolved into a massive, panicky rant. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"I'll send you the coordinates of my place. I hope you get fucking lost and mugged on the way."

"Go fuck yourself," Oikawa responded, then hung up, pocketing his phone rapidly and unlocking his door. Within seconds, his phone dinged with a text, just as he was locking up. Oikawa glanced at them, and then after a few taps, the fastest route to take.

Oh dear.

Would he make up the time he lost waiting for Mattsun to arrive if he asked him to drive him?

Probably not. And Mattsun could be busy, or away visiting someplace, or just not want to drive him.

He could run, Oikawa supposed, quickly rotating the key with a solid click. If he thought his knee could hold up.

Nah. Taxi, he decided, rushing down the stairs.

\--

"Oh? Didn't think you'd be here so quickly," Kuroo drawled out, to which Oikawa cocked a hand on his hip, narrowing his eyes.

"Well I am, so let me in."

Kuroo mimicked Oikawa's posture, slanting his hips to the side with a wickedly large grin. "And if I said no?"

"That really doesn't matter," Oikawa responded, lurching forward and shoving him aside purposefully. "Where's Iwa-chan?"

Kuroo shut the door behind him, pointing into the depths of the dim, grungy place. "Sitting room. I thought I'd be able to haul him onto the sofa but as it turns out, he's very fucking heavy."

"Oh, I know. I've had to do that before."

Oikawa strode into the sitting room, floor littered with cans, various DVD cases, and Iwaizumi, splayed out on his side at the foot of the couch. Hastily kneeling down beside him, Oikawa was about to roll him over when he remembered something random from talking with his sister.

"If they're on their back, there's a chance of choking on their own tongue, isn't there?" He asked Kuroo, who was standing at Iwaizumi's head. He shrugged. "Dunno. It was just the way I dropped him."

"You dropped him?! Are you even his friend at all?!"

"I'm kidding. Obviously. I dropped him down very gently."

Oikawa took a moment to glower at Kuroo, then turned his attention back to Iwaizumi, who appeared only to be sleeping, breaths even and face calm.

“You take his legs. I don’t trust you with carrying his upper body,” Oikawa told him, straightening up and pushing Kuroo down towards Iwaizumi’s feet.

“God, you’re bossy,” Kuroo mentioned, crouching down to catch hold of Iwaizumi’s ankles.

“I am not,” Oikawa denied, looping his arms underneath Iwaizumi’s shoulders, joining them across his chest. “Come on, lift him up now. I don’t want him lying on your filthy floor any longer.”

“My floor isn’t-” Kuroo’s foot bashed against an empty can and he jumped at the resounding noise, effectively cutting off his protest. “Fuck, that startled me.”

“Stop whingeing, princess, and get Iwa-chan on the couch already,” Oikawa snapped at him, shoulders beginning to tire as he draped him onto the couch, the lower half of his body thankfully following suit.

“Well, how about that? We didn’t drop him,” Kuroo commented as Oikawa flitted around Iwaizumi anxiously, making tiny adjustments to his pose so he looked more comfortable.

“If you had I would’ve ripped your balls off,” Oikawa replied evenly, straightening up with his hands on his hips. “Well, at least one.”

Kuroo whistled lowly, an unwelcome grin plastering itself across his lips. “That’s hella vicious, mate. I need those.”

Oikawa waved away his words, rolling his eyes. “You could manage just fine with one.”

Kenma wandered into the room, eyes alert and taking in the scene within seconds despite obviously only having woken up, wearing rumpled pajamas and a surprisingly calming expression. He glanced at Kuroo, then over at Oikawa, and asked a single question.

“I assume you’re staying then?”

“Of course,” Oikawa answered confidently.

“Wait, what? Why’re you staying? Kenma, I don’t want this guy staying with us!” Kuroo protested, throwing out an arm to point at Oikawa as if he was a multiplying, moist patch of mould on the ceiling. Oikawa exhaled audibly through his nose and folded his arms across his chest, expression hardening.

“Doesn’t matter if you don’t want to or not. I’m staying here until Iwa-chan wakes up.”

“He just wants to make sure he’s okay,” Kenma explained to a fuming Kuroo.

“Yeah!” Oikawa agreed, turning to Kuroo and sticking out his tongue childishly. “Iwa-chan will want to see my beautiful face when he wakes up, not your ugly mug.”

Kuroo retaliated in kind, pulling down his eyelid and leering at Oikawa, poking out his tongue. “It’s what’s on the inside that counts, so fuck off.”

Oikawa flipped him off, tossing his bangs to the side in irritation. “Do you think I want to hang around with you?”

“Then don’t. I’ll help you drag Iwaizumi back to your apartment.”

Oikawa considered the option for a moment, then shook his head somberly. “Trust me, I’d love to do that, but I don’t want to risk waking him. He needs the sleep, and plus imagine what hassle it’d be. He’s heavier than the goddamn sofa.”

“You could be mistaken as kidnappers too,” Kenma inputted quietly, thoughtfully.

“It would look sort of sketchy,” Kuroo agreed, flopping down onto his floor, limbs splayed out freely. “So I have to put up with this prick? For how long?”

“The moment Iwa-chan wakes up, we’re out of here.” Oikawa shrugged, looking around for another chair and finding none. “Now, I’m going to get some sleep.”

“It’s eleven in the morning,” Kuroo stated, lifting his head to give Oikawa a flat stare.

Oikawa blinked at him, raising his eyebrows. “Your point? I can’t sleep properly without Iwa-chan anyways, so I might as well take advantage of him being unconscious.”

“Aww, how fucking cute,” Kuroo deadpanned, knocking the back of his skull off of the floor as he dropped it back.

Kenma walked over to his limp body and lay next him, head resting on his shoulder as Kuroo’s arm curled around him wordlessly, fingers almost automatically ruffling through his hair absently. Oikawa’s lips slid outwards in a pout, shedding his jacket and shoes before slipping on top of Iwaizumi on the couch, careful not to lean too much of his weight on him. Actually, Oikawa thought as he gazed down at Iwaizumi, up on his hands and knees above him, how am I supposed to do this? There’s not enough space for me to squeeze in beside him, and I’m worried what would happen if I put my whole weight on him…

“Having a small issue?”

“No. Obviously not,” Oikawa spat back at Kuroo, who was watching him with a wicked grin, clearly enjoying his uncomfortable situation.

“If you slide down a bit,” came Kenma’s voice, half-muffled by Kuroo’s shirt , “You should be able to rest your head on his chest without putting too much weight on him. The couch is long enough.”

“Oh,” Oikawa mumbled, shuffling backwards until his foot hit the armrest of the sofa. Then, he cautiously lowered himself down, holding back a content sigh as his upper body met Iwaizumi’s familiar, unmistakable warmth, his body seeming to be molded precisely for Oikawa’s comfort. His arms glided around Iwaizumi’s torso as his cheek pressed against the middle of his chest, and this time he couldn’t withhold a breath of satisfaction, a sigh of pure gratitude.

“You’re so fuckin’ gay,” came Kuroo’s observation, almost on cue.

“You’re one to talk,” Oikawa retorted back, but he couldn’t manage to work up a sharp edge to his voice when Iwaizumi’s very presence was already lulling him to sleep.

“He has you there,” Kenma mumbled out.

“Ssshh,” Kuroo hushed him, one arm slinging over his body to press against Kenma’s mouth. “We are going to lie on the floor, in silence, and ignore that shitbag over there.”

“Okay,” Kenma said back softly, while Oikawa tried to work up enough motivation to be offended and fire back a scathing retort, but why bother? Not when Iwaizumi’s breathing was so steady, so soothing, and Oikawa hadn’t slept well in days, he was tired, so tired….

\----

Time passed, and Iwaizumi still slept on deeply, Oikawa curling up to him every now and then - okay, maybe it was a bit more often than “every now and then.” Maybe it was a lot more regularly than he’d like to admit, whenever he desired company or when he wanted to wake up Iwaizumi selfishly just to talk to him, but he couldn’t be that self-centered.

However, the time Iwaizumi spent sleeping was enough to help Oikawa figure something out. Iwaizumi wouldn’t like it, but he couldn’t continue like this, Oikawa knew, settling his head back onto his warm stomach. His jaw stretched out in a yawn, and he finalised his idea, cementing his determination once and for all. He hated his plan, but he’d taken a peek at how much money Iwaizumi needed exactly, and anything less wouldn’t be enough. His father’s pockets were deep, but there was only so much his mother could talk out of him on behalf of Oikawa, and if Oikawa told him the truth, there would be no charity, no sympathy at all. Why would he care about his son’s boyfriend’s mother, when he barely spoke to his own son?

No, this wouldn’t be easy, but Oikawa couldn’t think of any other alternative.

\----

Oikawa only woke up when there was a shift underneath him, strong hands hesitatingly drifting up his sides, and a quiet rumble sounding in his ear.

"Oikawa, wake up."

Oikawa groaned, wrapping his arms tighter around the warm mass beneath him.

"Wake the fuck up."

A sharp jab in his side made him flinch, but  not much more.

Still groggy, Oikawa dragged his face up from its very comfortable position on Iwaizumi's chest, blinking slow and drearily. Iwaizumi's breath stalled in his throat at the literal dreamy expression on his face, disorientated and adorable. His eyes were a cloudy brown, like a fog swirling around woodland, his lips slightly parted, unknown to himself. Iwaizumi caught himself propping himself up on his elbows for a kiss before his mind began working again.

“Oikawa…..”

Oikawa moved as if underwater, one of  his legs sliding down the inside of Iwaizumi’s thigh as he blinked at him, uncomprehending. “You’re awake?” he slurred out, head dozily falling to the side.

"Why am I at Kuroo's? Oikawa, wake up already!" Iwaizumi insisted, and this time he did kiss him, Oikawa's lips slow and soft against his.

"Mm," Oikawa hummed, fingers slipping into Iwaizumi's hair, his movements growing more acute and aware.

"Oh my God, ew," Kuroo remarked, passing through the room, Kenma tailing him absently with a coffee mug wrapped in his little palms. "That's gross. If you get so much as a single dot of spit on my couch I'm never letting you stay here again."

"Haven't you gotten come stuck in the creases before?"

"Kenma, kindly shut up."

Kenma gave the two a dead look, then stared pointedly at Kuroo. "I don't think they can hear us, so it doesn't matter."

"Hm, you might just be right about that," Kuroo mused, walking over and waving right beside their faces. "Earth to fuckface, and my hot friend he somehow managed to get to date him. Hello?"

There was no response from the duo, apart from a light sigh leaving Oikawa's throat as his fingers ran over Iwaizumi's cheek.

"Guess you're right," Kuroo concluded, spinning away. "Do you think Iwaizumi will kill me if I smack them with a pillow or just deal me grievous bodily harm?"

"Will you leave them alone if we ignore them to go and cuddle in the bedroom?"

Kuroo was already moving before he answered. "Man, Oikawa really owes you one. I was so tempted."

Iwaizumi finally cut off the kiss, as intoxicating as a sleepy Oikawa's kisses were, the sense of urgency had only been temporarily stopped.

"Are you awake now?" He asked, sitting up and shifting back a bit so Oikawa could sit at the other end of the couch.

"Your breath stinks," was Oikawa's only answer as he completely ignored the free space and dumped himself ungracefully in Iwaizumi's lap.

"How did I get here and why aren't I at work?"

"Oh, don't worry! I called them and told them you couldn't be there for a day or so."

“How’d you get the numbers?”

“From your phone, obviously.” Oikawa paused, then smirked widely at him. “Nice home screen, by the way.”

Iwaizumi coloured, recalling how he’d been missing Oikawa and had set one of their selfies as his background. When was that? The second day he’d been slumped over the desk, idly smiling down at the pictures once again? He’d meant to change it back before Oikawa saw - even if they were together, he knew Oikawa’s teasing would be merciless.

“So,” Oikawa continued on as Iwaizumi’s cheeks grew steadily more flushed, rifling down into his pocket. “I decided to send them to myself and - vola!” Oikawa held up his lit-up phone, grinning, evidently pleased with himself.

Iwaizumi squinted at the screen, his blush intensifying as soon as the image on screen sunk in. Him and Oikawa, smiling at each other tenderly, Oikawa’s finger prodding into Iwaizumi’s cheek. Iwaizumi’s breath suddenly felt very thick in his throat.

“That’s...really nice,” he managed to get out.

“I did think so! That’s why I did it!” Oikawa blurted out happily. “Now we have matching phone backgrounds!”

“Lame,” Iwaizumi muttered.

“Iwa-chan, you do know that that means you’re the lamest, because you started it?” Oikawa blinked innocently at him, smile hanging easy on his lips.

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi grumped back, fingers lightly exploring Oikawa’s soft cheek. "Enough of the sappy stuff. Explain how I got here.”

"Hm, well...." Oikawa tilted his head to the side, finger tapping against his chin thoughtfully. "You collapsed from exhaustion at the store, they called Kuroo and he busted you out from the hospital because he's an idiot and couldn't get you onto the couch so he called me to help, and here we are."

"But- oh, fuck," Iwaizumi cursed, glancing at his almost-dead phone. "I was out for two whole days?!"

Oikawa nodded. "We didn't want to move you in case you'd wake up. I did get two nights of really good sleep though, so thank you for that!"

"Oikawa, you - you don't get it, I need to go, like, now!" Iwaizumi tried to wriggle out from underneath Oikawa, but he grounded himself even more firmly, weighing down heavy around Iwaizumi's waist.

"Where do you think you're going, Iwa-chan?"

"To work! Where I should be!"

"No. You're taking a break for once, and we're going to do something fun," Oikawa told him. "It's for your own good."

"That's my fucking line, dumbass," Iwaizumi protested, gripping Oikawa's shoulder and trying to shove him away. "And I really, really need to-"

"No. You don't," Oikawa insisted, grabbing onto Iwaizumi's shirt and successfully staying where he was, stopping Iwaizumi from getting up. "I have an idea, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi paused, eyes narrowed, skeptical. "It's nothing to do with your father's money, is it?"

"No. The deal is, you work regular hours, come home in the evenings and I'll work too, cover the rest of the cost. How about that?"

Iwaizumi gazed at him for a few seconds as he weighed the proposal up in his head. "I don't like taking your money, either. What will you work as, anyway?"

"I'm giving you some of my money, it isn't a big deal," Oikawa sighed out. His eyes darted to the side for an instant, one hand twitching, tempted to comb back through his hair as he continued on. "And I walked into a modelling agency yesterday, asked to see the manager and well, I'm a model now."

"Are you serious?!"

"Are you serious? Have you seen me? You're lucky to have me, Iwa-chan. The photographer was totally eying me up."

"I...didn't think that was how getting a modelling job worked," Iwaizumi said faintly.

"Probably not, but it’s hard to say no to my face, don’t you agree? You should ask for one too sometime," Oikawa commented, gaze slipping over Iwaizumi's dark eyes and structured face. "You could get a job as an underwear model easily."

Iwaizumi coloured slightly as Oikawa's hand dipped down to his lower abdomen, tracing a sly little circle. "I...don't know if I would."

“Oh, trust me, you would. And I haven’t even seen you in your boxers yet,” Oikawa assured him, smirking as his hands slid over Iwaizumi’s shoulders, followed by his arms as his palms flowed up his neck and his fingers tangled in his hair, causing Oikawa’s upper body to press closer to him. “I just know. You’re fucking hot.”

“Um, thanks?”

Oikawa sighed. “Iwa-chan, you aren’t used to relationships, are you?”

“I haven’t had time for one since I was sixteen.”

“You still don’t,” Oikawa grumbled under his breath, then sighed again, louder this time. “Look, when I compliment you on your awesome self, you say thank you, and you either kiss me or say some really wonderful things about me. That’s how it goes.”

Iwaizumi looked at Oikawa for a single moment, then spoke. “Fuck off.”

“I mean, you can go that route too,” Oikawa admitted, a lighthearted chuckle rising up in his chest.

“Hold on,” Iwaizumi said, swallowing thickly as Oikawa’s face gradually drifted closer to his, angling ever-so-slightly to the side. “I still need to think about this.”

“About what? The deal?” Oikawa questioned, halting his movements with an airy sigh.

“Yeah.”

“That can wait until later,” Oikawa whined, grabbing Iwaizumi’s face in his hands and squishing up his cheeks. “Spend time with me first. I need attention, and from you. Especially from you. Maybe only from you. The point is, pay attention to me. A lot of it.”

In response, Iwaizumi grasped Oikawa’s hands in his, pried them off his face, and lurched forward, quickly pressing his mouth up against Oikawa’s, callous yet compassionate, firm but giving, too. Oikawa wasn’t quite sure how that worked, but he loved it. For someone who claimed not to have had a relationship for almost a decade, Iwaizumi kissed well, tenderly but with enough purpose to make Oikawa’s neck flush a deep red.

Oikawa felt Iwaizumi's hands detach from his, in favour of winding around his waist, clasping him nearer to him, bodies pressing hard against each other as if it wasn't enough, feeling the heat of each others' skin through clothing. Taking hold of Iwaizumi's lower lip in his teeth, Oikawa tugged back on Iwaizumi's hair lightly,  Iwaizumi's palms creeping up his bare back, rucking up his shirt as they went, the slow pace  almost driving him mad. He treated him like a jeweler would treat a rare, sentimental stone, with diligent touches and admiring breaths. Why did Iwaizumi have to be so patient and deliberate? Oikawa wanted fast and rushed, blood jolting in his veins, heart feeling like it was about to explode within his ribcage.

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa whispered breathlessly, letting go of his lip to lay kisses all down his heated neck. "How many people have you been with?"

"You mean..." Iwaizumi's mind was working dustily, dimmed by the way his body was reacting to Oikawa's teasing, dragging fingers against his scalp. "Like...sex?"

"No, I mean the number of people you've played cluedo with."  Oikawa rolled his eyes, pulling back from Iwaizumi's neck for a moment. "Of course I mean sex, idiot."

"Oh. Well...maybe...like five? I don't really keep track."

Oikawa stared at him. "Five? With a body and face like yours? Even if you were the most awkward person alive there would still be people drooling over you. Just like dear Kindaichi-kun."

"Jesus, please don't mention him. I still feel so bad," Iwaizumi muttered, dropping his face down against Oikawa's collarbones. "And whenever I wanted to have sex, I went out and found somebody who wanted to hook up, mostly women. That's all. You know I couldn't date."

"Mostly women?" Oikawa questioned, tilting his head sideways. "Why not men too?"

Iwaizumi shrugged. "I'm more attracted to the female body, and they seemed to like me more, so it worked."

Oikawa let out a mock gasp, yanking roughly on a fistful of Iwaizumi's hair.

"Then what am I doing on your lap right now? I feel so misled," he complained loudly. "You don't tell your boyfriend that you're more into girls, Iwa-chan."  

Iwaizumi gave him a flat look. "But that means you're in the minority. I was really surprised when I began seeing you romantically, in fact. You've got a shit personality and I didn't even know I was attracted to the male anatomy before you came along. Well, maybe I did. I just didn't admit it."

Oikawa hummed, thinking. "Actually, I kind of like it that way. Then I won't have to destroy any overly zealous exes. They'll just think you're straight-up gay, like me!" Oikawa winked, shooting Iwaizumi an impish grin, and Iwaizumi inhaled sharply, blood pumping way too fast. Oikawa. Was. So. God. Damn. Attractive. Particularly when he's genuinely happy, Iwaizumi thought, watching Oikawa flick his bangs expertly to the side. "So, where were we?"

"We were making out, and then you asked that random question," Iwaizumi answered.

"Do you really think it was random?" Oikawa questioned, lifting up both of his eyebrows. Then it clicked with Iwaizumi, and he swallowed dryly. "Oh."

"Oh, indeed," Oikawa grinned, and he gave into his urge to flex his body, grinding his hips downwards against a certain spot. He felt Iwaizumi's fingers dig into the skin on his back, heard his tiny gasp that slid right past his lips.

"Shit, Oikawa, not here... Kuroo'll kill us if we-" he was cut off by Oikawa yanking on his hair, his jaw slackening as his head was angled backwards, throat extending. Oikawa swooped forward with a deep kiss, feeling Iwaizumi's moan resonate against his lips.

It was the first time Oikawa had heard Iwaizumi moan, and he hesitated for a split second, desire soaking in through his limbs. He wanted to hear more, more of that deep sounds which betrayed Iwaizumi's pleasure. However, Iwaizumi was pulling back slightly, having caught Oikawa's uncharacteristic pause. "Something up?"

"Do that again," Oikawa breathed out, sinking Iwaizumi into a passionate kiss, tongues slicking down around each other.

Iwaizumi dug his nails into Oikawa's back, and Oikawa's back arched, his hips giving a small jerk forwards. He was about to work some more on Iwaizumi's crotch when the side of his face was smacked with a pillow.

"No sex on my couch," Kuroo declared as two sets of eyes turned to glare at him, fists cocked triumphantly on his hip, the edge of a pillow clenched in one. "If that hadn't worked, I would've busted out the spray gun and soaked ye with freezing water. Yo, that sounds fun. Maybe I'll do it any-"

"No, Kuroo," Iwaizumi sighed out, hands dropping down from Oikawa's back. "It's fine. There will be no sex on your couch."

"Wait, hang on a second," Oikawa said , indignant."Two separate couples have had sex in my bathroom, what's the big deal over a couch?"

"Simple, mate. I really don't want to sit down and know that you two fucked on it."

"Deal with it," Oikawa responded, leaning in for another kiss.

Iwaizumi, however, had other ideas, and turned his head to the side, denying Oikawa his kiss. Kuroo snickered as Oikawa thumped Iwaizumi on the chest, insulted. “You can’t do that!”

“Sorry but…” Iwaizumi gave him a weak smile, his arms closing in around his stomach. “I’m really hungry.”

“Oh! Iwa-chan, why didn’t you remind me?” Oikawa berated him, scrambling off of him quickly and pulling insistently at his arms. “You’ve had your rest, now you need food and water! Because if you pass out again, I swear I’m leaving you here with Kuroo - the worst fate imaginable.”

“He’s dating you,” Kuroo drawled out. “He already has the worst fate imaginable.”

Iwaizumi snorted, and Oikawa smacked him across his shoulder, glaring at a widely smirking Kuroo. “Don’t laugh at his stupid jokes!”

“But they’re so accurate,” Iwaizumi chuckled out, and Oikawa exhaled heavily through his mouth huffily, grabbing Iwaizumi by the hand and dragging him into the kitchen.

“I can’t believe you survived without me with him as your friend,” Oikawa declared as he flung open the fridge to reveal...empty shelves. “What? Kuroo, where’s the food?!” he demanded, spinning around to face him.

Kuroo, slouched against the wall, scanned his nails casually, and offered a straightforward explanation. “We have no money. We get takeout almost every day. What did you expect?”

Iwaizumi groaned, dumping himself into a seat and ducking his head down into his forearms, seemingly on the edge of despair. Kuroo rolled his eyes and dove into a cupboard, producing a bottle of water and chucking it across the table at him. “Take this, and drink it all, before you die from dehydration.”

Nodding, Iwaizumi grabbed the bottle gratefully, chugging it down quickly. Kuroo caught Oikawa staring at the wonderful sight of Iwaizumi with his face thrown back, his lips pronounced even more with them wrapped around the opening of the bottle, and outstretched a foot to prod at him. “Pervert. Can’t the poor guy have a drink in peace?”

Oikawa coloured slightly, ripping his gaze away from Iwaizumi to glower at Kuroo. “Says you!”

“Heh, you’re not even denying it,” Kuroo snickered.

"Thanks," Iwaizumi said shortly, placing down an empty bottle on the table in front of him. He tried not to let on how dry his mouth was, still.

The way Oikawa was looking at him was burned into his consciousness, hot and fiery.

"Okay, we're leaving," Oikawa announced abruptly, bounding over to Iwaizumi and grasping onto his arm. "You need nourishment, and I'm hungry too, so let's go to a place with actual food."

Here he threw an accusing look over his shoulder at Kuroo, who shrugged. "Not my fault. Maybe you should've anticipated that he'd wake up and asked us to buy some food."

"I don't think of those boring responsible things," Oikawa shot back, lugging Iwaizumi behind him, who protested, "I need a shower. And clean clothes before we go out."

"Then we'll get food on the way back, because we'll be walking anyways, okay? It doesn't matter if you look homeless, I'm just as bad," Oikawa pointed out, gesturing to himself grandly.

"Maybe if you'd left my place for half an hour to get fresh clothes you mightn't look like that," Kuroo mentioned.

"I couldn't!" Oikawa defended himself haughtily. "I know the moment I walked out, Iwa-chan would've woken up, because that's how my luck works."

Iwaizumi frowned at Oikawa. "Did you not...go out?"

"I couldn't leave in you the care of this imbecile," Oikawa insisted. "You'd wake up without any hair or marker scribbles all over your face or something even worse. And I couldn't move you either! What if we woke you up and you didn't get what sleep you needed?"

"He lived off pizza and water," Kuroo sighed out, leaning against the table. "Stunk up the place with smoke, too. What a delightful guest."

"Hey, I tried my best to smoke out the window. It isn't as if I like the smell either," Oikawa protested.

Iwaizumi began to nudge Oikawa towards the door before a full-blown argument stormed out, saluting Kuroo with two fingers. "Thanks for letting us stay with you."

"Thanks for clearing off and letting me use the couch again," Kuroo replied with a raised palm. “Much appreciated.”

“Oh, trust me, it’s our pleasure,” Oikawa retorted back over his shoulder as they vanished into the hallway.

“Do you have any stuff to bring?” Iwaizumi asked Oikawa, who shook his head.

“Once Kuroo called me, I pretty much threw on whatever clothes were closest and headed over. Look, I don’t even have matching socks.” Oikawa tugged up the ends of his pants, and sure enough, one was striped and grossly discoloured, the other white and much shorter. “Don’t ever say I don’t sacrifice anything for you, Iwa-chan. My fashion sense almost threw up.”

Iwaizumi snorted, then looped behind Oikawa, shoving him out the front door. “Your fashion sense can suffer through wearing two unidentical socks. My stomach, on the other hand, can’t take much more waiting. We’re hitting up the nearest restaurant. As long as it isn’t fancy.”

“Sounds perfect, Iwa-chan.”

\---

Before long, they were planted down in the stuffy corner of a noodle place, Iwaizumi gulping down his food at a supersonic pace. Oikawa, himself, took his time, marvelling at how quickly the massive volume of noodles vanished down Iwaizumi’s throat. His phone bleeped, and he paused, glancing at the screen and instinctively, subtly rotating it away from Iwaizumi’s sight.

 

 **shorter and grumpier than iwa:** so did you tell him

 

Oikawa glanced up at Iwaizumi, saw that he was still slurping down his noodles, and stared down at his phone, rolling around his bottom lip between his teeth. Oh boy. He’d discussed his idea with Yaku -  completely dodging around the Ushijima issue, obviously. But he had needed a second opinion and to figure out, firstly, if it was possible, and Yaku was the best person to ask.

 

 **absolute mess:** no I panicked and told him that I got a job as a model rip

 **shorter and grumpier than iwa:** fucking god dammit oiks you're going to have to tell him eventually or he will figure it out for himself

it's sort of hard to hide

 

 **absolute mess:** but he'll stop me going I know it

 

 **shorter and grumpier than iwa:** you need to be open and honest with him.

 

 **absolute mess:** it won't work. he'll get angry and try to persuade me out of it and I don't want to fight with him

 

 **shorter and grumpier than iwa:** maybe he's right and you shouldn't come back

your knee still isn't better, is it?

why don’t you actually go into modeling

 

 **absolute mess:** it doesn't matter about my knee it's fine it'll hold up

he needs the money and he's not capable of raising it on his own or admitting he needs help for that matter

and no. i wouldn’t be able to be there in the evenings if shoots run overtime. god yaku. know your shit.

 

Oikawa chewed on his lip anxiously, remembering how he'd taken a peek at the letter in Iwaizumi's jacket pocket - and winced. He wasn’t even sure if he’d earn enough modelling.

 

 **absolute mess:** and my father would blow a fucking fuse if I asked for that amount of money

not that I care but

he just might get pissed off and kick me out of my apartment :))

who knows lol

 

 **shorter and grumpier than iwa:** wow sounds like a really stellar guy

 **absolute mess:** enough talk about my shit father

 **absolute mess:** have you-

 

"Oikawa?"

Oikawa jumped, phone slipping out of his sweaty fingers and smacking onto the floor. Iwaizumi frowned and reached down to pick it up for him, but Oikawa hastily outstretched a foot and kicked it back to himself, scooping it up with a thin smile.

"Sorry! I'm so clumsy at times," he laughed out, wishing he could fool Iwaizumi like the others.

As expected, Iwaizumi didn't laugh back. He squinted at Oikawa, surveying him so intensely it sent prickles all up the back of Oikawa's neck. It was worse than the feeling of someone reading your thoughts. It was the sensation of someone observing your very being, your entirety as a person, and drawing out the core of what you're attempting to weakly hide. Oikawa couldn't let this go on any longer. He'd buckle.

 

 **shorter and grumpier than iwa:** oiks, you there?

 

"Well," Oikawa declared cheerfully, hopping up out of his seat. "We'd better get going, don't you-"

He was silenced by a hand, careful and soft, resting on his wrist, Iwaizumi's enchantingly misty eyes gazing up at him.

"You can talk to me, you know."

Oikawa swallowed, throat dry and knotted.

"I know."

Iwaizumi watched him for a moment more, then drew back his hand. "Alright."

They both knew Oikawa was hiding something - Iwaizumi knew Oikawa knew that he knew, and Oikawa knew that he knew, and knew that Iwaizumi -

Oikawa shook his head, clearing away all the remnants of "knew." It was getting much too complicated, but the bottom line was - Iwaizumi sensed something astray, and Oikawa, although knowing his concern, chose to ignore it.

"Since it's technically our first date, I'll be a gentleman and allow you to pay," Oikawa winked at him, and Iwaizumi scowled, hands diving down into his pockets for his wallet. He handed the payment over to the waiter without complaint, though. What an old-school gentleman, Oikawa thought fondly, a tiny smile on his lips.

"But of course, I'll give you a tip for paying for me!" Oikawa added on, nudging Iwaizumi in the shoulder.

Iwaizumi frowned. "How the hell does that work?"

Oikawa snatched Iwaizumi's wallet and quickly stuffed in a few notes before he could see how much it was - definitely more than enough to cover the whole meal costs. He made sure to zip it up again with his shittiest grin, just so Iwaizumi wouldn't check the amount.

"Let’s go,” Oikawa told him, handing him back his wallet. “I want to show you somewhere.”

As planned, Iwaizumi didn’t even spare a second glance to his wallet, eyes squinting in suspicion. “Where?”

“Do you understand the concept of a surprise by any chance, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa inquired seriously, a glint in his eyes as he grasped his arm and started weaving around the tables.

“I don’t like surprises.”

“You’ll love this one!”

\---

"You're taking me shopping?" Iwaizumi asked in disbelief as Oikawa dragged him  around an elaborate mannequin display , delving deeper into the store. “This is the surprise?”

"The pleasant surprise is my company, and I told you that I'd hold a clothing intervention for you, didn't I? Here it is!" Oikawa beamed back at him, and Iwaizumi's expression soured as he brushed heavily up against some precariously folded shirts, scrambling to stop them falling over.

"Do I look like a shopping type of guy? It isn't as if I have money for new clothes, anyway. This is pointless."

"I disagree," Oikawa answered cheerily, whipping out a pants on a hanger and measuring it up to Iwaizumi. "This one would accent your crotch so well! I highly recommend it."

"Don't say stuff like that out loud," Iwaizumi hissed, fire racing to his cheeks as he yanked the pants from a very disappointed Oikawa and placed them back on the rail.

"You keep forgetting that I have money," Oikawa pointed out, grabbing onto Iwaizumi's arm stubbornly. Otherwise he'd walk right out of the shop and Oikawa feared he may never get him back in. "I'll pay for you."

"Just because you have money doesn't mean I do, too," Iwaizumi argued back. "It doesn't work that way."

"It does if I want it to!"

"Oikawa, it's not that simple."

"Then what is?" Oikawa demanded, fingers digging into Iwaizumi's skin with enough tension to dot bruises in. "It's simple how you work yourself to death and collapse from exhaustion? Simple how you're never going to make up the amount that's needed, no matter how hard you try?"

Iwaizumi stiffened, his gaze narrowing. Oikawa’s face fell. He hadn’t meant to say that much at all, but it had just all come flooding out, his suppressed helplessness and frustration loosening his tongue.

"How do you know that?"

No point in lying now, Oikawa thought, praying in despair that Iwaizumi wouldn’t mind the mild privacy invasion.

"I looked at the letter in your pocket. I know you were barely meeting the previous costs, and these are a lot higher. I doubt you'll be even able to pay off the first month, even with your savings."

Something flashed in Iwaizumi's eyes, and his jaw locked up tight, strong. Too far, Oikawa realised suddenly. Oikawa's grip slackened for an instant, loosened by doubt, and Iwaizumi easily ripped his wrist free, spinning around and striding out of the shop.

"Iwa-chan!" Oikawa called after him, pathetically quiet and bordering on frantic.

Iwaizumi didn’t look back, his shoulders squared and held up tight to his body. Oikawa was frozen for a moment until he lost sight of his back, and even then it took him a second to shake himself out of the horrified stupor he’d fallen into. He fucked up. Why was he always like this? He shouldn’t have brought up the subject, and now a perfect day was ruined, his only day before Iwa-chan returned to work.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa pleaded again, scampering through the crowds, deftly spotting his unique hair through all the rest of the human equivalent of static. He wasn’t letting him go this time.

He waded towards him urgently, feeling his pulse pound in his neck, and closed the space between them easily, despite Iwaizumi’s rapid pace. He called out his name again, which once again went unanswered. There was no way Iwaizumi couldn’t have heard that. Oikawa was jostled left and right as Iwaizumi slipped into denser areas, but he refused to back away. A few more seconds and Oikawa was within reach of him, outstretching his hand, fingers clamping around Iwaizumi’s hand.

“Iwa-”

“Leave me alone!” Iwaizumi snapped, not turning around as he tried to fling Oikawa’s hand off, but Oikawa was strong. He couldn’t budge it an inch.

“Talk to me!” Oikawa insisted, winding his fingers in between an unwilling Iwaizumi’s. “Please. You know as well as I do that nothing will be solved by you running away.”

With an annoyed growl, Iwaizumi whirled around, and to his shock, Oikawa saw the beginnings of transparent tears in his eyes, glistening with an almost silent grief. His grasp didn’t waver, however, and Iwaizumi didn’t fight any more as Oikawa led them out of the crowds, into a little street, dark and with only one lone bookshop. Oikawa halted and turned to face Iwaizumi, who was staring at the ground, head lowered. One hand rose to rub hard across his eyes, his lips curling back as his fingers clasped Oikawa’s tighter. Soundlessly, Oikawa tugged him in close, wrapping a soft arm around his back as Iwaizumi gulped, face pressing into Oikawa’s shoulder.

“What kind of son am I?” passed his unsteady lips, quiet and shameful in the dim air. “I can’t even support my own mother. I knew that I couldn’t get enough but I had hoped...maybe I’d get a break-” his voice quivered, and Oikawa could hear his anxious swallow reverate off the walls. “Something. Something would happen to help. It’s so stupid, I know….but…”

“I understand,” Oikawa replied. “I know what it’s like to put your heart and soul into something and still not succeed. But it’s okay, you know. It’s okay to ask for help. You don’t have to deal with everything on your own.”

“But she worked so hard to give me and Shou a good life, and I repay her...like this?” Iwaizumi’s voice broke, eyes crinkling up with the effort of withholding tears or frustration, helplessness.

“You kept her alive for years and never gave up on her,” Oikawa reminded him. “You’re the best person I’ve ever met, never mind son. Don’t worry about supporting her. We’ll both do it, together.”

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi murmured into Oikawa’s shirt, “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

Oikawa chuckled lightly, squeezing his hand. “Just admit that I’m right. It’ll be easier.”

“I will never admit that. You don’t need another ego boost.”

“I disagree. My ego is never big enough.”

Iwaizumi snorted, and then he pulled back, his eyes drying up. “I hate it when you’re caring.”

“When I’m caring?” Oikawa repeated in indignation. “I’m always caring, I’ll have you know!”

Iwaizumi chuckled, his eyes creasing up in that wonderful way, and he tilted his chin upwards slightly, aiming to close those five centimetres between them. “Whatever,” he mumbled, then softly pushed his lips against Oikawa’s, slow and full of gratitude.

Conscious that they were in public, Oikawa only allowed himself a few moments of the blissful sensation of Iwaizumi’s relieved breath mingling with his. Taking him by the shoulders, he broke away, smiling warmly. “So what do you say we go back to shopping? They do say it’s the best therapy,” he suggested, winking at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi gave him a death stare, stepping back - if someone passed by and idly glanced in, there wouldn’t be any question in their minds that they were only friends, nothing more. “I still have no money.”

“Who says you’ll be buying anything?” Oikawa shot back jauntily. “I need new clothes, like any normal person.”

Iwaizumi shoved his hands into his pockets, and in the next second, Oikawa had threaded his arm through his, hauling him out into the crowded plaza once again. The waves of people seemed thinner somehow, and through the parting of the gathering, they could pick out a fountain, pretty spurts firing vertically upwards every few seconds.

“Some of my fashion sense might even rub off on you if you’re lucky! You really need it,” Oikawa chattered on amiably as Iwaizumi apparently tried to break away half-heartedly.

“You know what would be more fun?” Iwaizumi asked flatly.

“Do fill me in, Iwa-chan.”

“Drowning myself in that fountain over there.”

Pouting, Oikawa elbowed Iwaizumi’s side and steered him into a nearby store, advertising flashy shoes and clean-pressed trousers in the windows. “I can’t believe you’d rather drown yourself than spend time with me. I’m highly insulted.”

“I’d rather be on the couch and watching something,” Iwaizumi told him honestly, so open that Oikawa actually stopped his inspection of a display and turned to him, the playfulness draining out of his eyes.

“Do you mean that? It’s your day off, Iwa-chan. As much as your fashion sense needs saving, it can wait, if you want to do something else.”

Iwaizumi hesitated, thinking about it for a moment, then shook his head. “Nah. I want to spend my day off with you. I don’t particularly care what we do.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Then-” Oikawa beamed, snatching up a nearby jumper “-try this on! It’d bring out your green eyes so nicely, I just know it!”

Iwaizumi gave him a deadening look, pushing the jumper away from him. “I told you, I’m not buying anything.”

“And I told you, I’d help you out,” Oikawa hummed back, turning his back to him and flicking rapidly through a rail, expertly running a hand down the sleeves to check the material.

Iwaizumi loitered by his side awkwardly, glancing around uncomfortably at all the masses and masses of unnecessarily expensive clothes. He didn’t even need new stuff. Why was Oikawa so intent on picking him out things? There wasn’t anything wrong with what he wore, was there?

“Here!” Oikawa exclaimed, plastering something very soft and oversized against Iwaizumi’s chest.

Iwaizumi looked down at it blankly. “It’s check.”

“So?”

“You wear check. I don’t.”

Oikawa heaved a sigh, whisking the garment away again. “I thought it’d look good on you, but okay! Challenge accepted,” he finished determinedly, clicking the hanger back into place.

Iwaizumi blinked. “What challenge?”

“The challenge to find you some clothes you’d actually wear, of course! And that look good. Now, how do you feel about tank tops?”

“They’re alright, I guess.”

“Perfect! Let’s do the world a favour and show off your biceps, shall we?” Oikawa paused, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully. “Maybe not. I don’t want any of those heterosexual females eying up my Iwa-chan.”

“Girls eye you up all the time,” Iwaizumi argued back. “What’s the problem?”

“Yes, but that simply can’t be helped.” Oikawa swept his fringe to the side cockily, blinking innocently up at Iwaizumi. “After all, I can’t change my face.”

Iwaizumi's features deepened into a scowl as he realised that Oikawa was right, he couldn't really do much about his face. Oikawa commanded adoration wherever he wandered. It wasn't his fault if attention gravitated towards him. It didn't stop Iwaizumi starting to despise how yes, people did notice Oikawa. Selfish, yes. Small-minded, yes.

Stop it, Iwaizumi willed himself. Think of it as a good thing. All these people are looking at him, but they can’t have him. He chose me.

He was shocked out of his own head by the light, tingling sensation of Oikawa's fingers skimming down his cheek, Oikawa himself stepping closer. "Is my Iwa-chan becoming jealous, by any chance?"

"No," Iwaizumi answered dimly. "That'd be illogical."

"It really would be," Oikawa said brightly. "Since I wouldn't even look at anyone else when I have your oh-so-endearing frown to gaze at."

Iwaizumi scowled. "Is that how you compliment me?"

"Better than how you compliment me," Oikawa pointed out, lightly whirling back to the rack of shirts. "How do you feel about mauve...Hm, maybe not, actually..." Oikawa dissipated into a series of indistinguishable murmurings, leaving Iwaizumi's frown to deepen with thought. It went without saying that they adored each other - that was beyond doubt, comfortably settled into certainty in their minds - but when was the last time Iwaizumi properly , verbally, told Oikawa how...well, incredible he was?

He recalled saying how he hated when he was caring, but he didn't think that counted.

Oikawa spun back around, a careful selection rumpled in his hands. "Try this-" he paused, taking in Iwaizumi's expression and sighing deeply. "Don't be thinking so hard. It's not good for your little brain."

Iwaizumi stated at him a moment, working up what he wanted to say.

_You know I think you're amazing, right?_

"You know-" Iwaizumi burst out, then grimaced, glancing away. "Nevermind."

Well, that went great.

Confusion flashed in Oikawa's eyes, and he shifted nearer to Iwaizumi, his automatic smile slipping from his lips. "Is there something wrong?"

"Nah." Iwaizumi shook his head surely. "The opposite, in fact. I just realised that I really hate talking about stuff."

"By stuff, you are referring to feelings, aren't you?" Oikawa guessed, his eyes creasing up in understanding. So that's what this was about. Iwa-chan wanted to say something, but all of his instincts were dead set against it.

"If it's something that we doesn't need to discuss right now, I'd advise for you to try on this on," Oikawa told him.

"I'm not buying anything."

"No harm in trying! Plus, I want to see if this'll even button up over your chest," Oikawa added on, thrusting numerous items into Iwaizumi's unwilling arms.

"Jesus, how many of these do you want me to try on?" Iwaizumi grumbled.

"All of them, obviously!"

"What."

"You heard me."

"No."

Oikawa waggled his finger at him as if he was a naughty schoolchild, and suddenly Iwaizumi felt like he was in middle school again. "Don't test me. I will force my way into the changing room and dress you. Forcibly,if needs be. Because you need new clothes, and I just know you'll look good in those."

“Way to live up to the gay stereotype,” Iwaizumi griped, his voice becoming muffled as the clothes pile made it steady way up to his mouth.

“Don’t be so grouchy and judgemental. I’m finished picking stuff out now, anyways,” Oikawa announced, grabbing Iwaizumi’s arm and started dragging him over to a destination Iwaizumi couldn’t quite see but guessed was the changing rooms.

“This has to be over the limit,” Iwaizumi said as they halted, but Oikawa simply manhandled half the clothes, shot a sickeningly charming grin to the girl on the desk, and they were in, to Iwaizumi’s despair.

“Okay, so you’re going to go in, try all of those on, show me, and I’ll judge whether you should keep it,” Oikawa proclaimed, shoving Iwaizumi into a tiny stall and raking across the curtain.

“For fuck’s sake,” Iwaizumi muttered under his breath, glaring at the clothing tottering on the bench, and then Oikawa was bursting into too, draping even more on top of the unsteady bunch.

“Don’t forget about these, Iwa-chan!”

“I don’t think you’d let me,” Iwaizumi mumbled, reaching past Oikawa to draw the curtain closed again.

The changing room was small - so small, in fact, that Iwaizumi had to press up against Oikawa’s back to use the curtain, and suddenly he didn’t want to move. After pulling the curtain across, his arms dropped down over Oikawa’s shoulders, forearms crossing his chest and pressing him back into his embrace. He could feel Oikawa relax as he nuzzled up the side of his neck, an idea glinting into life in his mind.

“I could try on those clothes,” he murmured quietly against Oikawa’s neck. “Or we could make out instead.”

Oikawa sighed lightly, leaning back against Iwaizumi’s chest, hands roping around Iwaizumi’s arms. “You do make a very tempting offer, I admit…”

He rotated around to face Iwaizumi, his hands slipping around his neck as the corners of his mouth twitched, eyes curling up with warm amusement. Iwaizumi stepped back, looking towards the heap of garments to the side.

“Then again, maybe I should try on some of these…”

“Very sly,” Oikawa observed, clicking his tongue and not allowing Iwaizumi to pull away an inch. “How about a compromise?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“I’ll narrow down the range of stuff to try on, and then we’ll make out,” Oikawa suggested, tilting his lips nearer to Iwaizumi’s mouth.

Iwaizumi grinned as he clasped Oikawa closer, stretching upwards slightly to cover those all-so-annoying five centimeters. “That sounds good to me.”

Oikawa jerked his head back at the last second, smirking as he lay a finger over Iwaizumi’s lips. “Clothes first. Making out later.”

Groaning, Iwaizumi rested his forehead against Oikawa’s, fingers tugging at his shirt in irritation. “Your priorities are fucked up.”

“I don’t think you realise how much pleasure I’m going to get out of you being in nice clothes,” Oikawa piped up. “I mean, you’re hot in those hoodies and jeans, so I cannot wait to see you in clothes with flattering cuts.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“You will soon!” Oikawa detached himself from Iwaizumi, flaunting out of the room with a quick, “you better hurry up if you want that kiss!”

“Asshole,” Iwaizumi rumbled out, yanking the curtain back across viciously.

He shed his jacket easily, rolling his shoulders and trying not to look at himself in the bothersome, large mirror. As soon as Iwaizumi’s fingers touched the hem of his shirt to remove it, Oikawa’s head popped in quickly, then tsked in frustration.

“I thought I’d timed it properly to see you shirtless, but I was wrong. How tragic.”

Iwaizumi reached out and placed a hand over Oikawa’s face, shoving him backwards. “Get out.”

“I thought you like it when I invade your privacy,” came Oikawa’s hurt response, but he drew back regardless, pouting.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, and his shirt was halfway up his back when Oikawa’s head made another appearance.

“Did I-”

“Get out!” Iwaizumi growled, and his palm once again met Oikawa’s annoyingly smooth skin.

“I thought I had earned the privilege to see you without a shirt by now,” Oikawa complained, grabbing Iwaizumi’s wrist and wrenching it away from his face.

“Listen, do you want me to try on these clothes or not? Because if you just want to see me shirtless, we could just go home,” Iwaizumi said, thoroughly exasperated.

Oikawa perked up, eyes slyly dipping down to Iwaizumi’s fine chest. “How about you pretend to lose your shirt and walk around shirtless right now?” he suggested as if it was a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

“No way,” Iwaizumi told him, chucking one garment at his stupidly handsome face. “I thought you said you didn’t want those heterosexual females looking at me, anyway.”

Oikawa’s eyes twinkled. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? They can’t have you. I’ve decided that they can ogle all they want, and then I’m going to kiss you, just to rub their faces in it that you’re with me and not them.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Iwaizumi stated, but the edges of his mouth quirked upwards just a fraction. “Like you’d kiss me in public.”

“I would,” Oikawa declared surely. “I don’t care what people think.”

The honesty and sweetness of the claim shook Iwaizumi pleasantly, his tongue temporarily stilled by surprise. He ducked his head down, face aflame. “I’d kiss you back,” he said softly.

“If you didn’t I’d slap you.”

“Way to be romantic, Oikawa.”

“You can’t say that, least romantic person I know. Now try on those clothes, what’s taking you so long, anyways?” Oikawa stuck out his tongue and withdrew beyond the curtain before Iwaizumi could aim a sharp retort at him. He settled for sighing loudly and finally stripping off his shirt completely.

\---

Oikawa, back to the wall, heard Iwaizumi’s shirt hit the floor, but he resisted blasting in again. Barely. He just really wanted to see Iwaizumi in a non-sloppy outfit for once, so he continued loitering, tapping one foot on the floor impatiently.

Before long, Iwaizumi emerged, wearing an outfit that even his doubtful frown couldn’t diminish the splendour of. Oikawa clapped his hands together with happiness, feeling his heart speed up and his cheeks fire up with heat. Iwaizumi looked amazing, with a brown jacket perfectly accenting his broad shoulders, loose cargo pants - looked slightly too tight around his thighs, but Oikawa wasn’t complaining - and a shirt fastened casually around his waist. Oikawa was amazed that he actually picked out some stuff that went together decently enough, and he showed it too, whistling loudly. Iwaizumi reddened as a few passing heads turned their way, smacking a hand over Oikawa’s lips.

“Stop embarrassing me,” he hissed, one palm rubbing down the side of his uncomfortable pants. “Or I’m not trying on any more.”

“So mean,” came Oikawa’s muffled response, even as his eyes brightened up.

Squinting suspiciously, Iwaizumi removed his hand, and barely had time to grunt in surprise before Oikawa bundled him back into the stall, hands dancing down Iwaizumi’s sides, already unroping the newly-donned shirt. The kiss was messy and rushed, and it left a smile on both their faces.

“The making out time is now?” Iwaizumi guessed, running a hand back through Oikawa’s hair gently.

“Do you have to ask?” Oikawa smiled, then pressed his mouth to Iwaizumi’s again.

\--

Iwaizumi dumped himself onto the couch, silently glowering at Oikawa as he grumbled underneath his breath. The many, many bags slid down his forearms and onto the floor, folding in on themselves, stuffed full of clothes that were all bought by Oikawa, for Oikawa. Or so he claimed. Iwaizumi didn’t know yet that half of them were a size too big for Oikawa.

"What was that, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa questioned merrily, feigning obliviousness.

"Nothing. Just hoping you get caught up in one of your stupid shirts and suffocate," Iwaizumi deadpanned, rubbing his aching wrists.

"That wouldn't happen," Oikawa stated. "Iwa-chan would save me."

"Iwa-chan would be the one holding it over your face while you thrashed."

Oikawa frowned at him, fists cocked on his hips as he lowered the bags in his hands, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Then Iwa-chan wouldn't be a very good boyfriend, would he?"

"At that stage, Iwa-chan wouldn't have a boyfriend anymore," Iwaizumi retorted back, sighing as he kicked off his shoes and swung them up onto the couch, as he lay back, covering the entire length.

"Hey! That's mean!" Oikawa protested, padding over and gesturing at the now-full sofa. Iwaizumi gave him a flat look. "What is?" Rolling his eyes, Oikawa grabbed his legs, lifted them up rapidly and threw himself down onto the couch, dropping Iwaizumi's legs back down into his lap when he was seated. "There. You don't can't be so selfish, Iwa-chan. You've already occupied another couch for two whole days. You need to stop before it becomes an unhealthy habit."

"And you don't have to whine about it so much," Iwaizumi grumped back.

"I do not whine," Oikawa whinged back, undoing Iwaizumi's laces quickly.

Iwaizumi lifted his head up slightly, giving Oikawa a suspicious look. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing." Oikawa smiled pacifically at him as he stripped off his runners, creasing up his nose. "Ew, you really need to do something about that disgusting smell."

Iwaizumi dropped his head back onto the arm of the sofa, raising one foot up to prod at Oikawa's cheek. "Maybe if you hadn't bought so much and made me carry it they'd stink less. It's karma. Put up with it."

"Has anyone ever told you how romantic you are before?" Oikawa questioned dryly, warding off Iwaizumi's smelly foot with a vicious slap.

"Dunno. Probably not."

"Good, because they would've been lying. You're a terrible boyfriend."

"You're worse. I had to drag your shit around all day."

"I am not," Oikawa said in indignation, pinching the sole of Iwaizumi's foot.

"Shit, Oikawa!" Iwaizumi sat up straight, if only to glare at Oikawa heatedly. "That hurt."

"Not as much as you hurt me," Oikawa sighed out dramatically, closing his eyes and swooning backwards with a hand across his forehead. "Why must Iwa-chan be so cruel to me...?"

He heard a small noise from beside him and knew Iwaizumi was trying to stifle a chuckle. Time to gloat, Oikawa thought gleefully as he opened his eyes and turned, ready with a smirk on his face. Iwaizumi's mouth was in contact with his before he could get a word out, kissing him gently.

"I'm breaking up with you," Oikawa stated as they paused for a breather. Iwaizumi blinked. "Why?"

"Because you didn't allow me to gloat about making you laugh," Oikawa complained.

"You're impossible to please."

"I don't know about that.." Oikawa said slowly, gaze dropping to Iwaizumi's lips. "Kiss me like that again and you might just gain some of my approval. A very tiny piece."

"Nah."

"Do you want to please me or not?" Oikawa protested as Iwaizumi lay back again, slinging an arm over his face tiredly. "All I want is for you to put on a decent film we can watch. I need to not move for a long period of time."

“I’ll do it if you promise to spend at least half of it making out with me,” Oikawa immediately chipped in.

“Jesus, how needy are you?” Iwaizumi groaned, outstretching a hand to grab onto Oikawa’s arm, pulling him down on top of him. “Fine. I vote for Terror of Mechagodzilla.”

“I thought you wanted a decent film,” Oikawa commented as he apparently tried to surgically attach himself to Iwaizumi’s side, legs and arms encircling his boyfriend, warm and very, very secure. “It’s as old as fuck.”

“So?” Iwaizumi asked, untangling one arm to grab Oikawa’s laptop from the coffee table and settle it on his chest, on the spot Oikawa wasn’t on.

“So, old movies are shit,” Oikawa said, eyelids lowering as Iwaizumi clicked away.

“You’re wrong,” Iwaizumi replied flatly, casting a glance over to the space where Oikawa’s television used to be. “And you should probably get a new television.”

“I’ll deal with that later,” Oikawa murmured, nuzzling up to Iwaizumi’s neck and turning his head slightly to judge his film choice. “Oh my god, are you actually going for that one?”

“Yeah. You’ll like it. You like monsters and laser guns and stuff, right?”

Oikawa huffed out a breath, rolling his eyes. “If you want to dumb it down to simple terms.”

“Then this’ll be right up your alley.”

“I give you one chance, Iwa-chan, and one chance only.”

“Fair enough.”

\----

The rest of the day was spent in the most wonderful haze of kisses, simple, compassionate touches, and bad, bad movies with regular snarky comments from Oikawa, coupled with groans of frustration from Iwaizumi. They barely moved from the couch, only getting up off their asses for food, to take a piss, and occasionally, shift into a more comfortable position. It was a brilliant way to waste away hours of their lives.

"Thanks."

Oikawa glanced down at his boyfriend, head resting in his lap, Iwaizumi's hair coarse and spiky against his fingers as he quietly massaged his scalp.

"For what? Existing? No problem," Oikawa chirped back, running his thumb over Iwaizumi's cheek.

Iwaizumi smiled, and Oikawa's heart positively rebelled against what it was supposed to do in favour of looping around and around in his chest, as if on a sugar high. With all the worry and stress wiped off of his features, Iwaizumi was even more breathtaking, particularly with his dark skin accenting his light green eyes in the dim evening light. Oikawa loved seeing him like this, relaxed and completely at ease.

"No," Iwaizumi answered, stretching up a hand to catch Oikawa's, knotting their fingers together firmly. "For today. I had a good time."

"Only a good time?" Oikawa questioned with a light heart, unable to stop a smile springing up onto his lips. "I had a fantastic time, I'll have you know, and I expected the same from you."

Iwaizumi chuckled, grasping the front of Oikawa's shirt and tugging him downwards gently. "You're so demanding."

Oikawa obliged him, arching over until their lips were hovering inches apart, feeling Iwaizumi's fingers slip through his hair, head rising up to meet him halfway. "I know you love it," Oikawa teased, softly pecking their lips together.

"Whatever," Iwaizumi murmured, his breath whispering against Oikawa's mouth, and then he gripped Oikawa's hair tighter, pulling him down to press their lips together.

The side-on kiss was a little awkward at first, Oikawa forced to crane his neck to the side a little to slant his lips across Iwaizumi's better, and then it worked out, gentle and soft and caring.

"I know I have to get up for work in the morning," Iwaizumi breathed out against Oikawa's curvy mouth with a short sigh. "But I don't want to move."

"Then don't. Stay with me - you could fall asleep like this, couldn't you?"

"You can't, though. You're cross-legged. Your legs would get numb."

Oikawa waved a hand in the air. "I can do anything, Iwa-chan. I thought you would've picked up on that by now."

“Do you’ve work tomorrow?”

“Yeah?”

Oikawa tried to hide his the heightened slope of his shoulders, exhaling slowly as he stared at the television, unseeing. Please don’t interrogate me, he willed him silently.

“Shouldn’t you be wanting sleep, too?”

“I can function on three hours of sleep a night,” Oikawa reminded him. “I’ll be fine. Plus, that’s what makeup is for, right?”

Iwaizumi narrowed his eyes up at him suspiciously, and for a second Oikawa’s heart stopped. He knew, didn’t he? He must. Oikawa stiffened his shoulders back, sifting to the side a little and attempted to relax again. He couldn’t know. He knew something was up, but he didn’t think Iwa-chan knew what exactly. Yet, in any case.

“It doesn’t matter if you can function on three hours of sleep,” Iwaizumi told him quietly. “You should try, at least, to get a decent amount.”

His hand reached up and tangled in the back of Oikawa’s hair, tilting his face down to intertwine their gazes. Oikawa’s blood pulsed harder in his veins, Iwaizumi’s stern yet tender, steady glower rippling through his body. His chin was stuck upwards stubbornly, his lips set into a defensive line, eyes glinting with a loving force that wasn’t to be defied. Exhaling, Oikawa felt his worried expression unravelling, replaced with a soft nod.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I can sleep if you’re beside me.”

“I will be,” was Iwaizumi’s instant reply.  

They gazed at each other for a moment more, simply drinking in the reassurance of the moment. It only stood to reason that both of them started when Oikawa’s phone began vibrating. Sighing, Oikawa fished past Iwaizumi’s ear to pull it out of his pocket.

“Who is it?” Iwaizumi asked.

“My sister.” Oikawa narrowed his eyes, almost boring a hole in the screen.

Wondering at Oikawa’s short, stark response, Iwaizumi sat up, twirling back around to face him, cross-legged. With a sudden flash of thought, Iwaizumi realised that he really didn’t know much about Oikawa and the relationship between him and his family. Sure, he knew his father was rich, his mother esteemed in society, but he’d never mentioned a sister…

Wait, he had.

“The sister who wanted to be a doctor when she was younger?” Iwaizumi questioned, watching how Oikawa’s lips tightened as the phone rang on.

“I only have one sister, so yeah. She became a lawyer instead. What a successful person.”

Oikawa hardly bothered to disguise the bitterness in his voice, and Iwaizumi untangled his legs, instead opting to slouch against his side, joining him with the staring at the phone.

“Are you going to answer?”

“Maybe,” Oikawa commented offhandedly. “She’s okay, I guess. It’s not her fault that I’m not as good as her.” He hesitated, then heaved a sigh and pressed the green option.

“For God’s sake Tooru, I thought you were never going to pick up!”

“Sorry. Gotta keep my cool, unavailable image up, you know,” Oikawa drawled, examining his nails casually. “So what’s happening?”

“That image doesn’t apply to family! Mom’s here with me, after all,” his sister protested. “And eh, the same, really. Takeru keeps asking about you and when you’re going to visit, as always. What about on your end? How are you doing?”

“Great!” Oikawa chirped, turning his head to look at Iwaizumi with an honest smile. “I’m doing great, sis.”

“Yeah?”

Iwaizumi could hear the skepticism in her voice. Apparently he wasn’t the only one tuned into Oikawa’s constant lies of reassurance.

“Of course!” Oikawa insisted. “Ask Iwa-chan, he’s here with me!”

"Who's Iwa-chan?"

"Quite possibly the only reason I'm not alone right now, drinking myself to death," Oikawa replied, tone much too cheery for his words.

Iwaizumi leaned against his shoulder heavily, clasping his free hand and entangling their fingers together. Oikawa shot him a soft smile, and what Iwaizumi assumed was his mother's voice drifted out of the microphone.

"Don't joke about things like that, Tooru."

"Who said I was joking?" Oikawa answered with a bounce in his voice.

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, and Iwaizumi wondered just how much his family knew about his drinking. And how much they chose to ignore. Oikawa’s sister’s voice piped up again, attempting to fill in the uncomfortable lull.

"Mom, it's okay, you need to-"

"Tooru!"

"Yes?"

"I have to tend to the garden before it becomes too dark, but Tooru, ring us whenever you have a chance, and I’m holding you to that.”

“I didn’t promise any-”

“ _Tooru_.”

Oikawa heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes. “Fine. I’ll call tomorrow or something.”

“Good. Now talk to your sister, and be polite.”

Oikawa chose to roll his eyes again, turning to Iwaizumi with an expression of utter boredom, and whispered, “She treats me like I’m five sometimes.”

“Kind of picked up on that,” Iwaizumi mumbled back.

“Your mom’s cooler than mine. Can I be adopted by her?” Oikawa inquired quietly, expression dead serious.

“Then we’d technically be brothers.”

“So?”

“We’d be brothers and dating.”

“It’s not incest if I’m adopted,” Oikawa pointed out lightly, and Iwaizumi squinted at him suspiciously. “Have you been talking to Matsukawa and Hanamaki?”

Before Oikawa could answer, his sister made a reappearance.

“I’m back,” she informed them. “Takeru’s here, too.”

“Did you say something to Mom?” Oikawa asked skeptically. “She seemed more uptight than usual.”

“I did mention that she shouldn’t be so lax on you. You can’t guilt-trip her forever, you know.”

“I can and I will try,” Oikawa argued back. “I’m the pettiest bitch I know.”

Iwaizumi snorted. “You got that right.”

“Shut up,” Oikawa retorted back, swiping at his head.

“Oh, was that Iwa-chan?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa drawled out, glancing over at Iwaizumi, most of his weight leaning on Oikawa’s side. “He’s squashing me brutally right now.”

"What's he like?" his sister asked curiously.

"Well, he's sarcastic, overly proud, doesn't like discussing his feelings. Which is really annoying-"

"I can hear you, you know,” Iwaizumi inputted, digging Oikawa in the ribs with his elbow, but he kept on going.

"He's a bit slow at times-"

Iwaizumi outstretched his foot and prodded Oikawa in the leg.

"-and his feet always stink-"

"Stop talking shit about me to your sister," Iwaizumi hissed.

"-and he doesn't take _constructive_ criticism about himself very well," Oikawa continued, putting special emphasis on the constructive as he widened his eyes innocently at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi clicked his tongue in annoyance, then blinked lazily, bending over to tug off one of his socks. Oikawa's nose wrinkled up and he tried to squirm away from Iwaizumi, still chattering on, but Iwaizumi pursued him ruthlessly. Oikawa tried to lean out over the side of the couch to escape, but Iwaizumi simply leaned entirely on him, trapping him below his mass.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa squawked out as Iwaizumi’s sock neared his face. “That’s gross! Stop it!”

“Um,” wafted out of the speaker. “What’s going on?”

“Hi,” Iwaizumi said as he clamped the material over Oikawa’s face, who began squealing and squirming around desperately. “I’m Iwaizumi. Could you please forget everything Oikawa just told you about me?”

“Why? What happened to Oikawa?”

Iwaizumi glanced down at the writhing body underneath him and grinned. “Nothing bad.”

“What do you mean, nothing bad?” Oikawa demanded, ripping his face free with a thankful gasp of air. “This is assault! Chemical warfare! Do you have no standards at all?!”

“Obviously not. I’m dating you, aren’t I?” slipped out of Iwaizumi’s mouth before he could stop it.

He froze, tense and stiff, as he threw a glance over at the phone in Oikawa’s hand, but Oikawa only shook his head and laughed. “Don’t look so worried, Iwa-chan. She’s been telling me that I’m gay since forever.”

His words were confirmed with her next ones.

"Oh great, you're finally over your ‘I'm totally straight’ phase."

"Yep, thank god,” Oikawa sighed out. “Dark, dark times. Please don't break it to Mom or Father though, I don't think they'd be able to take it."

"'Course not. I'm not an idiot. I could've told you your own sexuality long ago, by the way."

"You did. Many times. It didn't help." Oikawa exhaled deeply, craning his head backwards. "You weren't exactly diplomatic about it, either."

"Even you have to agree that it was hilarious when I casually mentioned it to your girlfriends and they started to see it too."

“No! It wasn’t!” Oikawa burst out as Iwaizumi began chuckling aloud. “It was awful! They started taking me on shopping trips and asking me about makeup and stuff!”

“We just went on a shopping trip?” Iwaizumi frowned, confused.

“I only like them when they’re focused on me, duh.” Oikawa rolled his eyes. “Or when we make out in the changing rooms.”

“Tooru, shut up. I don’t want to know about what you two did in the changing rooms.”

“When I bring Iwa-chan to meet you, I’m going to tell you every~ detail,” Oikawa sang out, a shitty grin hanging on his lips.

“I don’t want to know details of my little brother’s love life, thank you very much.”

“But it’s just sooo fascinating,” Oikawa insisted with a large grin. “I want you to know absolutely _everything_ we did.”

“We haven’t even done anything yet,” Iwaizumi pointed out. “I mean, nothing to make her uncomfortable.”

Oikawa chuckled, placing the phone on mute for a second as his sister groaned out her protests. “But she doesn’t know that, does she, now? I’ll make up some juicy stuff, don’t you fret.”

“Don’t,” Iwaizumi interrupted. “I don’t want to be embarrassed any more.”

“Oh…” Oikawa gave him a pitying look, his head tilting to the side. “I haven’t even started yet, you dear, innocent man. So if you want to break up with me, now’d be the time to do it.”

“Oh, Christ,” Iwaizumi groaned, dropping his head onto Oikawa’s shoulder. “Can’t you just skip the whole ‘embarrassing Iwa-chan,’ part of our relationship?”

“Nope!” Oikawa replied cheerfully, and tapped the mute button again.

His sister, however, wasn’t focused on their conversation any longer. Muffled scrambling came from the speaker, along with an, “Okay, okay, calm down, Takeru. You can talk to him now. Don’t be rude, you hear me?”

“Hey, Uncle Oikawa. Are you still as much as a loser now as you were when you left?”

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow at the high, pre-pubescent voice, laced with the particular shitty confidence that only the little gremlins that swarm the school hallways could muster up.

“Listen here, you little brat,” Oikawa snapped back. “I trained you. I taught you everything you know-”

“That explains his attitude,” Iwaizumi commented dryly, and Oikawa glowered at him briefly before barrelling onwards with his rant.

“-and this is how you repay me? You are the most ungrateful teenager I’ve ever met.”

“My mom says you were worse.”

“Well tell your mom she can go and-”

Iwaizumi clamped a hand over Oikawa mouth before he could splutter out any inappropriate profanities.

“Hi. Takeru, is it?” Iwaizumi called out, much more politely than he felt like being.

“Who’re you?”

“Friend of Oikawa’s. Just wanted to let you know that I agree with you.”

Oikawa whined beneath Iwaizumi’s palm, eyes clearly showing his obvious sense of betrayal. Iwaizumi chose to ignore those damned gorgeous eyes as he plucked the phone out of Oikawa’s hand.

“You should,” came the typical twelvie drawl of pure arrogance. “He’s an absolute cunt.”

Iwaizumi hung up.

“No offence,” he told Oikawa. “But your nephew is an asshole.”

Abrupt laughter spurted from Oikawa’s throat, covering Iwaizumi’s palm in spit. He grimaced and moved away, wiping his hand on Oikawa’s thigh. He could wash his own damn spit out of his clothes. Chuckling, Oikawa lay down and pulled Iwaizumi on top of him with a bright smile. He didn’t seem to be bothered about calling his sister back.

“Is Iwa-chan protective over me, by any chance?”

“I’m the only one allowed to insult you,” Iwaizumi responded curtly. “And your nephew should show you some damned respect.”

“Like he’s going to show me respect. He’s like fourteen or something.”

The phone began ringing out in Iwaizumi’s hand, and Oikawa began laughing again.

Iwaizumi took a second to stare at him, his beautiful giggling. His hair was an utter mess, but he obviously didn't care, his crafted, powerful shoulders trembling slightly against the couch as his chuckles twinkled in the air, circling Iwaizumi with the softest warmth he'd ever felt. His fingers lifted and trailed tenderly down the side of Iwaizumi's cheek, sucking all the breath out of Iwaizumi's empty lungs.

"That was good, Iwa-chan," Oikawa snickered. "I still can’t believe you hung up on him. He’s going to be so pissed off!"

"Hajime," Iwaizumi breathed out, so gentle and awed he wasn't sure if he'd even said it aloud. "It's Hajime."

Oikawa's lips parted in surprise, palm rubbing around the back of Iwaizumi's neck. Then he nodded, eyes ablaze.

"Hajime," he said, as if trying out the name on his lips. "Hajime, Hajime. My Hajime."

Iwaizumi offered him a crooked grin, eyelids lowering as he stroked down Oikawa's hair, twirling it in his fingers carefully. "Don't wear it out. I might just revoke your privilege."

"Haha, then I may just change my mind about allowing you to call me Tooru," Oikawa mentioned with a glint in his eyes, thumb teasing through the hair at the back of Iwaizumi's neck.

Inhaling, Iwaizumi searched Oikawa's face intensely, attempting to see if he was joking or not.

"Why the serious face?" Oikawa frowned, squinting up at Iwaizumi, wondering.

"Are you serious?"

"About you calling me Tooru? Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because...I don't know," Iwaizumi sighed out, dropping his forehead down onto Oikawa's collarbones. "It just seems like a bigger deal for me to call you by your given name."

Oikawa frowned down at the top of his head. "Why?"

"I dunno."

"Thanks Iwa-chan, that clears it all up."

Iwaizumi's nose scrunched up as he scowled down at Oikawa, fingers gently brushing his fringe aside. "Whatever. The point is, you can call me Hajime, alright?"

Oikawa tilted his head to the side, his hands skimming across Iwaizumi's collarbones. "Is it okay if I save it for some...special occasions? I don't want to, as you said, wear it out."

Iwaizumi shrugged. "It's not that special, really. It doesn't matter to me."

"Well, it does to me," Oikawa answered surely, clawing one nail into Iwaizumi's skin as if to emphasise his words. "I'm not going to use it whenever. It's too intimate."

"You're making it seem a bigger deal than it is," Iwaizumi protested mildly. "It's just my name."

Oikawa furrowed his brow, bringing up his hands to clamp onto either side of Iwaizumi's face. "Listen here, you ridiculous man. It's the first time anyone's told me that I can use their given name. My family doesn't count," he chipped in quickly, upon seeing Iwaizumi's expression. "And I don't want to take it for granted, or for you to regard it as nothing. Okay?"

Iwaizumi grimaced, feeling the heat from Oikawa's palms soak in through his cheeks. "Fine. I get it, I suppose."

"And you can call me Tooru," Oikawa declared firmly. "If you don't, I'll be, like, super offended. It's not as if I'm any closer to you than you are to me."

Iwaizumi nodded slowly, a strange, twisting mass of emotions closing up his throat for some reason. "Alright. That sounds good to me."

Oikawa beamed up at him, placing a fast, tender kiss on his lips before speaking, joyful and upbeat. "It does sound good, doesn't it?!"

Fuck, he's really happy about this, Iwaizumi thought, gazing at Oikawa's massive, glowing grin. Then it hit him that yes, he was really happy too. He smiled, ducking down to ghost his lips across Oikawa's forehead. Oikawa’s phone vibrated in his palm, and he read the incoming text with a snort of amusement.

 **sis** : I’ve got some stuff to do but you best believe I’m calling you tomorrow. Also Takeru’s complaining to me about Iwaizumi hanging up on him, is that true? Was he being rude again?

He flashed the text to Oikawa, who smiled and took the phone, firing off a quick reply.

 **Tooru-kun:** he was being like usual don’t worry I know he loves me really!! and we might’ve hung up on him. maybe.

 **sis:** That’s it. He’s not getting his phone for the rest of the day, I don’t care how grumpy he is.

 **Tooru-kun:** have fun dealing with the literal stereotype of a typical teenager!!

 **Sis:** Huh, you really are in a good mood.

 **Tooru-kun:**?

 **sis:** You’re using a lot of exclamation marks.

 **Tooru-kun:** and that means I’m happy??

 **sis:** Usually, yes. Or faking, if you use too many. In any case, I’m glad you found someone that makes you happy.

 **Tooru-kun:** me too tbh

 **sis:** So I’ll call you tomorrow? Would around lunchtime suit?

 **Tooru-kun:** yeah, perfect. see ya!

 **sis:** See you.

 

Oikawa put down his phone with a content sigh, smiling up at a patient Iwaizumi. “That’s that sorted. Now, where were we?”

“About to start Planzet,” Iwaizumi supplied, fingers running down the line of Oikawa’s jaw. “Your pick, so I’m holding you responsible if it’s shite.”

“Like all the others you showed me weren’t,” Oikawa scoffed, pushing at Iwaizumi’s shoulders. “Now get off, I can’t see the laptop from here.”

Iwaizumi groaned in complaint, but he backed off obligingly, letting Oikawa sink back into the couch, his knees elevated above his waist even though his feet were touching the floor, thanks to his lengthy legs. Iwaizumi traced them with envious admiration, wishing he had the effortless grace - and height, height very much came into it - of his lithe thighs and structured calves. Catching his stare, Oikawa smirked, lifting one leg up high into the air and running his hand down as much of it as he could.

“Like what you see, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, pointedly rotating his body away from Oikawa and focusing on the laptop, resting on the table in front of them. “Shut up and watch the film.”

Oikawa’s shoulder met his as he relaxed against him, still with the faded remnants of smugness on his face. “I know when you’re being coy, Iwa-chan.”

“Shut up and watch the film.”

“Ah,” Oikawa sighed out. “You’re so easy to embarrass, you know that? It’s sort of adorable.”

He snuggled into Iwaizumi’s side as Iwaizumi tried to stop his cheeks from setting his face on fire, nonchalantly slinging an arm around Oikawa’s shoulders. His warmth started soaking in through Iwaizumi’s clothing, and it was funny, how Oikawa’s human heat, his earnest glow, felt so different to every other human he’d ever touched. He was...Iwaizumi struggled to find an analogy that would do him justice, but his very presence made him feel so at ease, so at home, and yet, his skin was prickling with a deep sensation, one that made his neck flush with colour and his heart pound painfully in his chest. He pulled Oikawa closer to him, ignoring the smirk that Oikawa shot him in response.

“You’re amazing.”

The instant the words were out of his mouth, Iwaizumi deliberately avoided eye contact, going steadily  redder and redder under Oikawa’s surprised gaze. To his shock, Oikawa didn’t gloat, boast, or tease Iwaizumi about how sappy he was. He simply lifted up his head, flattened his lips tenderly against Iwaizumi’s cheek, and settled his head back down again on his shoulder.

“You are too, Iwa-chan.”

\----

Halfway through Planzet, Oikawa became fed up of only having Iwaizumi’s arm around him and dragged him closer to him, positioning him between his legs with his arms wound around those broad, broad shoulders. They settled lengthways on the couch, both fitting neatly on the breadth of the seat.  Iwaizumi took the laptop and balanced it on his knees, arms slinging back lethargically over Oikawa's bent knees, using them as an armrest.

"You're even tinier from back here," Oikawa remarked, idly resting his chin on the top of Iwaizumi's head. "I didn't think it was possible."

Iwaizumi grunted and half-heartedly swatted at Oikawa behind him, but his back, pressed up against Oikawa's chest, was completely at ease, betraying his laziness. "I'm not short, you're just way too tall."

"It isn't my fault if I'm blessed with all the things you're not ," Oikawa chirped back. "Height, good looks, great fashion sense.."

"Cooking better not be on that list."

"Very funny, Iwa-chan. I'm dying from laughter," Oikawa deadpanned, completely monotone.

"Mm, I can tell." Iwaizumi stretched out his arms with a dozy yawn, then twisted around to face Oikawa.

"Fulfilling your promise of making out?" Oikawa questioned brightly, the laptop tumbling from Iwaizumi's knees as he rotated his body sideways.

"Yeah," Iwaizumi answered honestly, a hand gliding up Oikawa's thigh as he shifted up nearer to him, still situated between his legs. With a little bit of a stretch, his fingers dove into the short hairs at the back of Oikawa's neck, and their lips joined together sweetly. At first. Oikawa was cradling Iwaizumi's face in his palms, slowly leaning forward more and more to deepen the kiss. Iwaizumi kept gradually shifting, until he was right above Oikawa, one hand still buried in his hair and the other supporting his weight, placed beside Oikawa's head. There was something a little different about this, Iwaizumi judged, feeling Oikawa's hot breathing flourish against his. Oikawa's legs were beginning to curl up around his hips - It would be so easy to...to....

Iwaizumi's mind almost shut down before the completion of that thought, the urge flowing through him once again. Experimentally, he closed the space between their hips, carefully pressing his pelvis downwards and moving cautiously, hesitantly. A small hitch in Oikawa's breathing showed him that he felt something, something good, along with the way his thighs tensed around his waist.

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa addressed him, drawing back from the kiss for one moment. "Are you, by any far-fetched chance, trying to signal something to me?"

There was a sparkle in his eye and his smile, and Iwaizumi swallowed with great difficulty. He really did not know what to say. Was he? Did he want to go further with Oikawa?

All the cells in his body were crying out a resounding yes, it seemed.

Oikawa smiled coyly and bit his lower lip, his hands trailing down slowly to splay out over the pleasantly full curve of Iwaizumi’s ass, rubbing their pelvises together again.  A swell of heat flowed down to the lower half of Iwaizumi's body, and he sucked in a breath sharply, palms gliding down to the small of Oikawa's back.

Yeah. Yeah, he was definitely feeling it.

“Do you want to have sex?” Iwaizumi blurted out.

“Oh my god, Iwa-chan, you really have no tact, do you?” Oikawa rolled his eyes, pinching his butt mockingly. “Where are the scattered rose petals leading to the bedroom and scented candles? What about a bridal-style carry?” Oikawa sighed dramatically, tilting his head back in exasperation. “I really love how romantic you are.”

Iwaizumi went red, a deep cherry colour splashed endearingly across his cheeks. “I’ll be more romantic if you stop being such a little shit,” he answered, only to half-heartedly defend himself with an insult.

Oikawa laughed then, a beautiful full sound, so unlike the twinkly false one. "You are so simple, Iwa-chan. Of course I want to have sex with you. How many times have I brought it up now? It feels like hundreds!"

Iwaizumi frowned. "You've brought it up like twice."

"Along with millions of hints," Oikawa insisted, dipping his head forward against Iwaizumi’s neck, lips loitering just beyond the hinge of his jaw. His voice dropped about an octave, rasping right into his ear. “You’re so dense sometimes.”

“And here I thought you were going to whisper something intimate,” Iwaizumi complained, dragging Oikawa’s head back by the hair to narrow his eyes at him.

Oikawa only grinned in answer, his palm massaging over the crotch of Iwaizumi’s jeans. “I’ll leave that until we’re in the bedroom, my dear Iwa-chan. Speaking of which, why aren’t we in there yet?”

“Uh,” was what came out of Iwaizumi’s dry mouth, canting his hips into Oikawa’s airy touches.

“Exactly,” Oikawa stated, and kissed him messily, shoving him back purposefully. “Come on, you giant idiot.”

It was a very messy trip to their bedroom, feet tangling together, arms never wanting to let go of the other, lips never wanting to be disconnected. All of this made walking quite a challenge, and very inconvenient indeed. Before long, Oikawa was pinned between a wall - he didn't know which, not even what room, the awareness of his surroundings was consumed by Iwaizumi, everything was Iwaizumi - and Iwaizumi, mouthing roughly at his neck as he tried to unbutton Oikawa's shirt with one hand, the other gripping his thigh, raising it up to lock around his waist. With fingers quavering from anticipation, Oikawa aided him, quickly rolling it off his shoulders like a wave, the light material billowing to the floor and gathering at his ankles almost silently. Neither of them took any notice of it. It was out of the way, and that was all that mattered.

"Iwa-chan, we have to-" Oikawa gasped out in a brief parting of their lips, angling his head towards the bedroom, or what he hoped was the direction of their bedroom.

"I know," Iwaizumi murmured thickly, tugging down Oikawa's waistband to below his hipbone. "It's where you have all the stuff, right?"

"Right," Oikawa answered breathlessly, then shoved Iwaizumi away from him. "Then let's get there as fast as possible."

Iwaizumi didn't need to be told twice, and, once there, Oikawa caught his hand, spun him around, and promptly propelled him back onto the bed. Iwaizumi's back hit the soft mattress, and he had hardly time to catch his breath before Oikawa was above him, yanking up his shirt, nuzzling his stomach, breaths hot against his skin. Before Iwaizumi  knew it, his shirt was being dragged up over his head, followed by Oikawa’s mouth flush against his neck. Yanking his arms out of the sleeves and down again, Iwaizumi’s hands flickering  all over Oikawa’s heated face, his slender neck and sharp jawline, wanting to explore every crevice of his body, to imprint the individual crooks and bumps onto the top of his fingertips.

“Mm, now you’re getting into it,” Oikawa hummed out, tone lilted and soft as his lips skewed across Iwaizumi’s throat.

“Do you even have to point that out?” Iwaizumi grumbled out even as his fingers dove through Oikawa’s hair, threading through all the way to the curled-up ends.

“No need to be so grumpy,” Oikawa said lightly, kissing the underside of Iwaizumi’s jaw. “I’m only checking that you still remember how to handle foreplay properly.”

Iwaizumi glared down at him, ears burning. “Just because I haven’t had sex as often as you doesn’t mean you’re any better than me.”

“Mm, are you sure?” Oikawa smirked, blinking slowly. “I can top pretty damn well, if you want me to illustrate.”

He could almost visibly see the automatic pride sparking clear in Iwaizumi’s eyes before he grabbed Oikawa’s shoulder and pushed him sideways, over near to the bottom of the bed. Oikawa’s smirk didn’t falter, his hair twirling free against the sheets, Iwaizumi bending over him with narrowed eyes.

"I don't bottom." Iwaizumi's voice was adamant, face hovering just inches above Oikawa's, who could see every gentle dash of brown and grey amongst the pale green of his eyes.

"Oh? Could it possibly be that my dear, innocent Iwa-chan has never bottomed before?" Oikawa tilted his head to the side, his smirk intensifying, betraying his amusement.

"I don't bottom, asshole," Iwaizumi repeated, stronger this time.

"Don't worry," Oikawa cockily slipped out, his fingers sliding through Iwaizumi's hair. "I'll take good care of you~"

"I'm not bottoming, Oikawa," Iwaizumi growled out, moving his head slightly to feel Oikawa's slight tug more.

"But I top so well," Oikawa protested, grinding upwards as if to illustrate his point. "Many people have told me so, and I want to hear you tell me that too."

"I'm never going to tell you that." Iwaizumi's voice was low, coarse, and very stubborn. Oikawa found it amazingly sexy.

"Oh, I think different," he told him, one hand rising to pick at Iwaizumi's waistband teasingly. "I think you'll enjoy it very much."

Iwaizumi glanced down at himself, pupils diluting at the sight of Oikawa's nimble fingers grazing across his lower torso. "Won't I enjoy it regardless?"

"Obviously. You're with me." Oikawa hooked one finger underneath Iwaizumi's boxer waistband, tugging it away from his skin slowly before snapping it back again, smirking up at him. "Now do you have a problem with it?"

"You're so infuriating," Iwaizumi breathed out heavily, even as he lowered his head to kiss Oikawa's jawline roughly.

"I think you mean I'm so right," Oikawa amended, tilting his face so he could brush his lips against the corner of Iwaizumi's mouth.

“That is not me saying that you’re right,” Iwaizumi murmured back, his hand cradling the back of Oikawa’s neck.

Iwaizumi slowly made his way down the length of Oikawa’s jaw, nipping, kissing heatedly and urgently, descending to Oikawa’s neck. Oikawa sighed out an airy, breathy moan, the one he reserved for the ones he particularly liked. And he liked how Iwaizumi arched lips worked across his hot skin, very much so. Iwaizumi stopped, lifting his face up off of Oikawa's neck.

"Don't stop," Oikawa complained, twisting his fingers in Iwaizumi's hair.

He sat back, straddling Oikawa's waist as he frowned down at him. "I'm not having sex with you if you fake moan. If I'm doing a bad job, just tell me."

Oikawa's eyes widened. "No, you're not! I'm sorry, I think I slipped back into old habits without noticing. I always used to drive people mad with that one, though. Are you sure it didn't do anything for you?" Oikawa asked, quirking an eyebrow upwards suggestively.

"No," Iwaizumi maintained. "I want you to moan  because you can't not, not select one of your pre-prepared ones."

Oikawa's eyes enlarged for an instant as Iwaizumi held up their mingled gazes, Oikawa's surprised one and Iwaizumi's irritated one, readily, waiting for a response. Glancing away, Oikawa swallowed thickly, making his mind up.

"Okay," he agreed, and then his hands were pulling Iwaizumi down again, slipping under his shirt to ghost across firm, bare skin. "I'll try not to fake anything, Iwa-chan. For you."

"That's sappy," Iwaizumi mumbled, but his face was burning when Oikawa clasped it in his hands. He smiled up at him, and Iwaizumi's questioning frown was so endearing, so him, that Oikawa couldn't help pressing their lips together once again.

Iwaizumi’s mind seemed to go into overdrive, his body taking over as the kiss shifted deeper, intenser, and he raked his fingers back through Oikawa’s hair roughly. The thing was, Oikawa’s hips were rising up, slanting pleasantly against the curve of Iwaizumi’s ass, and it felt nice. Really nice. Iwaizumi had only a limited experience of being fucked, and the man was handsy and clumsy and seemed to think Iwaizumi, with his impressive physique, couldn’t be hurt. It had, obviously, soured his opinion of bottoming, and being with men in general, now that he thought back on it.

And yet, he found himself considering the opposite now, despite his claims to Oikawa.

It was Oikawa, Oikawa he was with, not somebody he barely knew. He trusted Oikawa. With a quiet sigh of breath, Iwaizumi broke the kiss, teeth rolling around his lower lip nervously.

"Hey."

Oikawa hesitated at the sound of Iwaizumi's voice, quiet and mellow. He clapped both his palms on either side of Iwaizumi's face, guiding his turned -away face towards him. Oikawa gazed directly at him, Iwaizumi Hajime, his Iwa-chan, as heat flooded the cheeks beneath his palms, but Hajime kept up eye contact as Oikawa slowly drank in every minute detail of his expression.

"Oikawa," Iwaizumi whispered, then cleared his throat.

"Stop delaying and spit it out." Oikawa smiled warmly, thumb playing absently with Iwaizumi's lower lip as he waited.

He could feel Iwaizumi wanting to rotate his head away, glancing off to the side as his fingers dug into the side of Oikawa's hip. "I did say that I don't bottom, but with you, I...wouldn't mind," he mumbled, eyes drifting back to catch Oikawa's glowing expression.

"Are you certain?" Oikawa asked, tugging Iwaizumi's face down nearer. "Because I'm super good at riding dick too, and, trust me, I can't wait to sit on yours."

Oikawa was very, very satisfied to see Iwaizumi's eyes widen, and even more satisfied to feel a stiffening against his lower stomach. Dragging his thumb across Iwaizumi's lip, Oikawa grinned, loving how he affected Iwa-chan.

"You this time, me next time. What do you say?"

Iwaizumi nodded, swallowing hard. "I'm up for that."

"Good," Oikawa breathed.

They gazed at each other for a moment more before, almost in sync, lurched forwards together into a deep, loaded kiss, one that left them both panting and breathless, one that made Oikawa's toes curl up and his legs to slide up around Iwaizumi's waist.

"Fuck," Iwaizumi cursed heavily, one hand falling to deftly unbuckle Oikawa's belt. "These skinny jeans better not be as difficult to take off as they are to put on."

Oikawa laughed, uneven and free, and helped Iwaizumi peel off the material clinging to his pale thighs. "They aren't quite as bad, but that reminds me! Did I ever tell you how I lost my virginity?"

Iwaizumi glanced over his shoulder at him, his back facing Oikawa so he could yank off the troublesome jeans without moving from his seat on his hips. "I can't believe you're picking this moment to tell me about that."

"Well, skinny jeans were involved there too, and it just jogged my memory now!"

"Might as well tell me," Iwaizumi replied, straightening out Oikawa's knee so he could drag the denim down further. "This could take a while."

"So," Oikawa babbled on happily, running a hand up Iwaizumi's fine back, underneath his shirt. "It was with this girl - really pretty and great body, obviously - but she was a virgin too, and of course it went a little wrong. So there we were, in the bathroom-"

"You did it in a bathroom?"

"Yeah, of a nearby pub. What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong with a bed?"

"We were sixteen,  Iwa-chan. We hardly had our own places at that stage!" Oikawa raked his fingers lightly down Iwaizumi's back, who shivered. "Jesus, Oikawa just get on with the story."

"Just making sure you don't get any less horny," Oikawa smirked out.

"You don't have to worry about that. Go on.”

“So, anyways,” Oikawa babbled on excitedly. “She was wearing skinny jeans too that time, but the bathroom was so small and cramped it was really awkward to take them off so she kind of just got them down to her ankles and left them there. And her shoes were really hard to get off too so we only took off one of those and gave up.”

“Well, she came prepared, didn’t she?” Iwaizumi grunted out, rolling the tight material over Oikawa’s ankle with some difficulty.

“Very prepared. Literally the only reason we decided to go through with it is because we’d discussed it beforehand. I mean, we were both drunk and it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Iwaizumi glanced back and his expression made Oikawa laugh, waving one hand around laxly. “It wasn’t like we were drunk while doing it or anything! You can stop looking so concerned now.”

“That’s something, I suppose.”

“Mm, and then she avoided eye contact with me or looking at my dick for the entire thing, which lasted about twenty seconds.”

“What?”

“Her dad rang her when I was just in,” Oikawa giggled out. “Apparently she was supposed to be collected twenty minutes ago, and she had really strict parents so I had to pull out really quick before she answered.”

Iwaizumi clapped a palm over his face, smile peeking out the sides. “She actually checked who was calling her while you were having sex?”

“Obviously.” Oikawa sat up and wrapped his arms around Iwaizumi, chin resting on his shoulder. “Are you done with the jeans yet? We need to move onto yours,” he hummed out, hands sliding down to Iwaizumi’s belt, slowly and deliberately unfastening it.

Iwaizumi’s hands slipped over Oikawa’s, turning his head around, over his shoulder, to kiss the edge of Oikawa’s mouth. “Yeah, they’re off.”

“Fantastic,” Oikawa murmured, drawing up his legs as he undid Iwaizumi’s belt, the soft “sshik” sound it made as he pulled it loose filling up the room. Dropping it onto the floor with a lazy, slack wrist, Oikawa brought his attention back to his jeans, fingers scrambling around Iwaizumi’s to blindly free the top button. His lips ghosted up the back of Iwaizumi’s neck, reverently kissing the almost-invisible freckles dotted up just below his hairline as he unzipped the jeans down, one hand tracing a teasing circle just above the waistband of his boxers. He should be going faster, he knew, but it was simply too satisfying to sense Iwaizumi’s impatience stacking up, his exhales growing heavier with every second Oikawa loitered away.

With an exasperated sigh, Iwaizumi twisted around in Oikawa’s arms, forcing his back onto the mattress as he kicked off his jeans completely, leaving them in a bundle at the end of the bed. Oikawa couldn’t stop himself letting loose a low whistle, gaze trailing up Iwaizumi’s entire body from head to toe. Iwaizumi’s expanse of hard, dark skin was even more spectacularly breathtaking than he’d recalled, perhaps because he wasn’t just attracted to him sexually now. His thighs were broad and powerful, evidence of his frequent runs, his shoulders sculpted and as solid as marble, and Oikawa couldn’t help running his palms down those beautiful arms, admiring every single bump and flex of muscle along the way. Before now, he hadn’t really gotten a chance to stare openly in all the rush, but boy, was he making up for it now.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi rumbled out. “Stop zoning out.”

“Oh, believe me,” Oikawa sighed out happily, fingers examining Iwaizumi’s straight jawline. “I’m not zoning out. I’m simply admiring. Is that not allowed?”

Iwaizumi coloured, trying to shrug off the compliment apathetically. “I suppose I’ll permit it.”

“Great!” Oikawa chirped, and Iwaizumi could see his pupils expanding as his gaze dragged down the length of Iwaizumi’s body, sucking in his lower lip almost unconsciously. His neck flushed, his body feeling much too hot under Oikawa’s light brown eyes, and impatience darted through Iwaizumi.

“Admiring time over. Get out of your boxers already,” Iwaizumi stated, and Oikawa’s eyes flickered back up approvingly.

“You first,” he practically purred out, one hand rising to stroke Iwaizumi through the thin material. “I wouldn’t want to put you to shame now, would I?”

Iwaizumi resisted pressing down against Oikawa’s teasing caress, but barely, mouth dry as he swallowed thickly. “Fine,” he murmured, and Oikawa’s hands were there before his, inching the elastic down around his hips, thighs, knees, until it was off entirely. Oikawa’s eyes rasped down the length of Iwaizumi’s body, exhaling with a sigh of appreciation, and, above him, Iwaizumi relaxed, the sudden bout of nervousness, exposure, wearing off. He was with Oikawa, after all. There was no need to be self-conscious.

“Now you,” he mentioned, the hand that wasn’t supporting his weight tugging down the side of Oikawa’s sky-blue briefs.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” Oikawa teased, but he arched his back, enabling Iwaizumi to draw his underwear down. Oikawa’s legs kicked free of the inconvenient garment, and then his lips were rising to Hajime’s, teeth catching on his lower lip as he propped himself up on his elbow. The kiss melded deeper as he sat up straighter, hands gripping Iwaizumi’s hips, tight and strong.

Iwaizumi shifted forwards, his knees slipping around to circle Oikawa’s waist to comfortably settle on his naked lap. With a breath, he ground downwards experimentally, and Oikawa’s answering groan made his blood flow burning hot in his veins. Swallowing, Iwaizumi pushed up the intensity of the kiss, forceful and hard, as he rolled his body, enjoying the sweltering touch of Oikawa’s hands.

“Like this?” Oikawa asked breathlessly, palms wandering the expanse of Iwaizumi’s lean back as if he couldn’t possibly touch him enough to be satisfied.

It took Iwaizumi a second or two to process what he was asking, at first. Then he nodded surely.

“Like this.”

Oikawa nodded back, eyes blown wide with some sort of amazement, a disbelief that Iwaizumi was actually here, naked and as handsome as ever, clasped close to Oikawa’s chest. In Oikawa’s lap, Iwaizumi was the taller one, and he had to admit, he liked it. He liked tilting Oikawa’s face up to kiss him, liked the feeling of Oikawa’s scurrying kisses dotted across his sensitive neck. Liked the fact that he could drink in Oikawa’s expressions and crafted, elegant face from angles he’d never seen before.

“Yeah,” he breathed out heavily, gaze dropping to the top of Oikawa’s head, fingers buried in his fluffy hair as he worked his lips against the side of Iwaizumi’s neck. “I like this position.”

“Is it because you’re taller?” Oikawa questioned lightly, pulling back with a twinkle in his eyes.

Iwaizumi tugged on Oikawa’s hair in response, scowling. “No.”

“So it’s definitely the reason,” Oikawa smirked, leaning back and over to the side, hand slipping into his bedside drawer.

Iwaizumi’s gaze tracked the small bottle that emerged intensely, breaths coming shorter and quicker at the thought of what they were about to do. Oikawa hesitated, seizing Iwaizumi’s chin in his free hand and meeting his eyes.

“Are you still up for this?”

Oikawa’s voice was softer than Iwaizumi’d ever heard it, clouded by the pure concern and floaty with care. Throat clogged up, Iwaizumi nodded. “Yeah. Just….excited, I guess.”

Oikawa’s face broke out in a grin, and he wound his arms around Iwaizumi, squeezing him tightly in an embrace with his face pressed against his chest. “I’m really happy to hear that, Iwa-chan.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just get on with it,” Iwaizumi muttered, face aflame.

“Whatever you say!” Oikawa winked at him as he withdrew, popping open the top of the bottle.

Oikawa slicked up his fingers, and Iwaizumi felt his cheeks gently being moulded to the side. Then a long, elegant finger was pressing cautiously against him, sending a spark of stimulation through his body. He hissed out through his teeth as the pad of his finger pressurised his entrance, teasing him open carefully.

"My, you're sensitive," Oikawa observed, easing off on the pressure briefly before repeating the slow, deliberate movement, persuading him looser gradually.

"As I said, I don't normally...do it like this,” Iwaizumi murmured back, fingers tightening around Oikawa’s upper arm.

"What?" Oikawa asked cheekily. "Take it up the ass, you mean?"

Iwaizumi glowered at him, the pad of his thumb sinking into Oikawa's lower lip, splaying it out wider. "Don't phrase it like that."

"Why not?" Oikawa purred, parting his lips and brushing his tongue up against the side of Iwaizumi's thumb, dampening it just the slightest amount. Iwaizumi's pupils dilated, and he swallowed thickly, unconsciously leaning back against Oikawa's finger. "It's the truth, isn't it?" Oikawa added lowly, finally slipping past the resistance and into Iwaizumi's body.

Iwaizumi exhaled deeply, his back arching back into the touch, lower lip curling back into his mouth as he bit down on it heavily. "Oikawa..."

"Good?" Oikawa inquired, feeling Iwaizumi's heat surrounding his finger. Iwaizumi's thumb dropped down from his mouth as he nodded, hazily and with barely hidden eagerness. "Add another."

"Bossy, aren't we?" Oikawa teased, but he obligingly slid a second finger in alongside, this time with a bit more force. Iwaizumi groaned, rocking backwards just the slightest amount, his head falling backwards. Oikawa didn't find it very hard to imagine how he would look when it wasn't his fingers inside of him, and he swallowed hard, working out Iwaizumi's entrance deftly. He set a slow pace, as impatient as he was, he was very aware that Iwaizumi wasn’t used to this at all. Dropping his face onto Iwaizumi’s strong shoulder, his mouth pressed against his shining skin, Oikawa listened to the minute gasps catching in Iwaizumi’s throat, the tiny, almost inaudible groans to regulate himself. It was a good few more seconds before Oikawa dared to try a third digit, Iwaizumi’s body bucking back against him.

“Are you okay?” Oikawa questioned, laying a chaste kiss on the curve of his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi breathed out thickly. “Yeah, i’m fine. Keep going.”

Oikawa nodded almost imperceptibly, stretching him out just that little bit further. There was a slight hitch in Iwaizumi’s breathing, but nothing else to indicate discomfort, so Oikawa kept going, rubbing and loosening carefully. He didn’t want this to hurt him at all.

After a couple of minutes, Iwaizumi pulled back slightly, gaze dropping to Oikawa’s crotch. “I think I’m ready now.”

Oikawa nodded, an anticipating grin splitting his lips. “I think so, too.”

There was a moment of heavy silence, and then Iwaizumi lurched forwards, capturing Oikawa into a passionate, fast, messy kiss.

“Hold on, hold on,” Oikawa gasped out, breaking away to grab a hold of one of the condom packets in his bedside drawer. It was a bit of a stretch, but he reached it, and rolled it on quickly.

Iwaizumi gripped him then, raising himself up onto his knees and shifting forwards. Oikawa had to angle his head upwards to kiss his neck, clasping a piece of skin between his teeth and sucking hard. Iwaizumi groaned quietly at the sharp sensation, angling his head back with pleasure mingling in through the mild pain. One hand joined Iwaizumi’s, helping him line up, the other digging into the small of his back with tense eagerness.

“Ready?” Iwaizumi asked lowly.

Oikawa arched back, lifting a hand to brush over the fresh bruise on Iwaizumi’s neck, and met Iwaizumi’s flaring hot eyes.

“Of course,” he said simply, and then Iwaizumi dropped himself downwards.

Oikawa had never felt anything quite like Iwaizumi sinking down around him before, slow and slippery and god, tight. Tight and slick and dragging and Oikawa felt like he might implode at any moment, his nails clutching onto Iwaizumi's dark skin, damp and muscular against his fingertips.

"Jesus Christ," Iwaizumi breathed out as he engulfed Oikawa's most intimate area completely, connecting them entirely with a deep moan. It seemed to strike something within Oikawa and reverberate in his bones, Iwaizumi's throat shifting as he swallowed thickly, clenching and rising up again. This time, as he lowered, Oikawa leaned forward to meet him, kissing him sloppily with fingers twisting in his hair as his hips canted up to aid him. He wasn't used to this slow, careful pace at all, the gentleness of Iwaizumi's brash body expanding around him knocking all useless thoughts from his head and breath out of his lungs. Their chests pressed together, hard and purposeful, as Iwaizumi rolled his hips, a gasp slipping from Oikawa's throat and tumbling into Iwaizumi's mouth, ever-so-slightly panting. He rocked steadily back and forth on Oikawa's lap, moving Oikawa inside of him, adjusting and stretching around him with tiny catches of breath.

"How are you so good at this?" Oikawa praised him in a raspy whisper, teeth tugging on Iwaizumi's bottom lip.

"I-" Iwaizumi's voice was indistinct and thick, as if his brain was having trouble communicating to his mouth. "You're the one asking me that? You're-" He was forced to abandon his sentence as Oikawa arched upwards into him, deeper than before, and grazed off of - something - inside of him, something that shot exhilaration through his limbs, his thighs trembling around Oikawa's hips.

"That, my dear Hajime," Oikawa sighed out, feeling how his heated body positively thrummed around him, "Was your prostate."

"I know that much," Iwaizumi answered, trying to be grumpy but his voice came out heavy and low, weighed down with pleasure. "Just because I've mostly slept with girls doesn't mean I don't know anything about gay sex, too."

"I was trying to make it hotter," Oikawa grumbled, tilting his head just right to suck at Iwaizumi's exposed throat, biting and kissing, wet and hot against the sweat cooling on his skin.

"Fuck, is this not enough for you?" Iwaizumi panted out, rising quicker, tightening harder with a short gasp. Every sound he made trembled right against Oikawa's lips, the vibrations causing him to pulse more intensely inside Iwaizumi.

"No," he breathed out. "No, this is perfect." He paused, trailing a bunch of fluttering kisses all the way up his jawline to right underneath his ear. "You're perfect. Hajime."

He slowly surrendered his mind and body to the man above him, allowing their limbs to flow in time with each other, tiny gasps and pants spilling out of their throats. Iwaizumi's fingers twisted sharply in Oikawa's tangled hair, and when Oikawa retreated, his pupils were blown wide, his lips parted and glistening. He ground down into Oikawa's lap, and Oikawa couldn't help groaning, bucking upwards abruptly. His self-control was being torn down bit by bit by Iwaizumi's body, rippling around him, fingers absolutely and completely knotted in his light brown hair, wrenching unintentionally every time Oikawa brushed against his sweet spot.  
All his senses were on fire, pleading with him to quicken the pace, to hurry up and fuck the beautiful man on top of him senseless, but Oikawa held back. Barely. He'd let Iwaizumi be the judge of when to up the ante. As it turned out, he didn't have long to wait. On his next downwards lowering of his hips, Iwaizumi slammed himself down, jaw slackening as his eyes squeezed closed, a stifled moan emptying out of his throat, chest heaving. Accepting the stronger action, Oikawa thrust upwards rougher, kissing Iwaizumi sloppily, their tongues and lips melting into each others heat. Iwaizumi dragged his nails down the back of Oikawa’s neck, catching on damp strands of hair, the sweet strain wrenching a low moan out of his throat.

“I see you’ve learned-”

The mocking statement died on Oikawa’s lips as Iwaizumi’s eyelashes flickered upwards, gazing at him with half-lidded eyes brimming with lust. Oikawa’s brain seemed to stick in place, his swollen mouth ajar ever so slightly with dumbstruck adoration. Iwaizumi was too  goddamn beautiful, and it really, really, wasn’t fair.

“You don’t have to stare like that.”

Oikawa blinked, jolted back to reality as Iwaizumi’s eyes drifted to the side, chewing his lower lip with apparent embarrassment. “I wasn’t…” Oikawa started weakly, then shook his head, a tiny smile surfacing. “I disagree, Iwa-chan. I do have to stare.”

A matching, flattered smile appeared on Iwaizumi’s lips as he met Oikawa’s eyes again, attempting to shrug the compliment off. “You and your silver tongue,” he murmured, revolving his hips and bringing Oikawa’s focus back to the pressure in his crotch.  
  
Colour was emblazoned onto Iwaizumi's cheeks, his mussy hair stuck up in little random tufts from Oikawa's rambling hands, as his body lifted up once again, and once again filled Oikawa's entire being with explosive pleasure. Oikawa's nails were biting into his back as he rose and and down, the mark on his neck fresh and stinging, but Iwaizumi didn't mind, didn't mind in the slightest. He loved this, pushing Oikawa so far that he was out of his mind with satisfaction, tottering on the brink of his flawless control Iwaizumi had almost managed to shatter. With one final buck of his hips, Iwaizumi could see Oikawa break, beads of blood welling up from the curves Oikawa's fingernails etched into Iwaizumi's body. And sure enough, Oikawa, eyes darker and more lustful than Iwaizumi had ever seen them, lunged forward, his lips crashing into Iwaizumi's as they toppled over, his intentions clear. Iwaizumi's back was molded back into the mattress as Oikawa readjusted himself, kissing Iwaizumi's neck frantically, bordering on madness as he pressed into Iwaizumi again, lithe body flexing as he thrust forwards. Iwaizumi's legs rose up, securing themselves around Oikawa's waist, toes curling up as he pushed back, driving the pace even faster.

Pants, mingled in with low moans, were pouring out of his mouth faster than he could keep up with, but he knew one thing - they were somehow arousing Oikawa even more, judging by how he throbbed within him. His sturdy arms clung on around Oikawa's neck, both hands grabbing messily around some soft brown strands as his shoulders lurched back and forth, utterly giving in to the man he trusted the most. Iwaizumi's hands ran down the entirety of Oikawa's body, wanting to memorise every rounded bump and dip. There was a fire swelling stronger and stronger in his lower torso, pressure begging to be released, building with every swipe of Oikawa within him. Stretching down, his palms slid over the curve of Oikawa's ass, helping him thrust more powerfully - not that Oikawa needed that help. Oikawa seemed to like it, though, and he leaned towards Iwaizumi's ear, fingers sinking into the sides of his thighs.

"Imagine what it'll be like," he breathed out, voice on the verge of cracking. "You being inside me. Inside that ass you're grabbing right now."

"You suck at dirty talk," Iwaizumi answered, unsteady and thick. It was really, really hard to keep his voice even when Oikawa was pounding into him. Smirking, Oikawa reached back around himself and grasped Iwaizumi's ankle. "Maybe I was going easy on you, it being your first time and all."

"It's not my first time-"

"Anyways," Oikawa grinned as he unwound one of Iwaizumi's legs around him. "I hope you've kept up with your stretches from volleyball."

With that, he gently bent Iwaizumi's legs forwards, pushing his calf up against his thigh and the front of his thigh against his chest. He looked at Iwaizumi as his movements in him slowed, waiting for Iwaizumi's response. Iwaizumi's chest inflated with how careful Oikawa's actions were, not uncertain but soft, always making sure that Iwaizumi was alright.

In reply, Iwaizumi drew back his other leg and slung it easily over Oikawa's shoulder, following suit with the other. Then he gripped Oikawa's face between his hands, inviting him in closer.

"Now are you ready to fuck me properly?" Iwaizumi asked, eyes ablaze.

Oikawa's mouth went entirely dry, his heart rate accelerating to an insane speed. He grinned back. "Why didn't you ask earlier?"

"Shut up and fuck me," Iwaizumi breathed out heavily, mouthing Oikawa's neck, sucking hard and purposefully on his pale skin.

"So aggressive, Iwa-ch..." The words disappeared off Oikawa's lips, replaced with a light moan and a breathy, "Hajime..."

Iwaizumi was groaning before he knew it at the utterance of his name, the word sounding so intimate tumbling from Oikawa's lips, so right in his floaty voice. Oikawa's mouth met his again, damp and coated in heavy, lustful breaths as he moved inside of him at a deliciously fast pace, aiming for completion. Iwaizumi could feel his own breath shortening, his legs slipping sideways off of Oikawa's shoulders due to his inability to concentrate, Oikawa's skin smooth and hot underneath his fingers. He loved it.

Oikawa drew back slightly, for the sole purpose of drinking in Iwaizumi's expression, lips more inviting than he'd ever seen them, plush and tanned and wonderful as he panted, eyes only a thin slit, yet his gaze was as rapturing as ever, fiery and intense. There was a dangerous tightening in the lower half of Oikawa's body, and he shuddered, feeling Iwaizumi's fingers rake down his flexing back.

Oikawa's breathing was hitching against his neck, his murmurs of indistinguishable thoughts growing more and more regular, and Iwaizumi knew he was near to spilling over the edge. He was, too, but he didn't want this to end. Tugging Oikawa's head back, he gazed at him, at his flushed cheeks, his swollen, reddened lips, and - this is what Iwaizumi found the most beautiful - the breathtaking and unmasked expression in his eyes, the love Iwaizumi saw clearly staring back at him. As if on a hidden cue, they gravitated towards each other at the same time, lips naturally easing together like they were made to be this way, this close, this linked, one mind, one body. It might as well have been the kiss that finally finished Oikawa off - he gasped, hips diving forwards one last time, and climaxed, still kissing Iwaizumi's lips like after this, he'd never see him again.

"Hajime, oh my god, Hajime..." Oikawa almost whimpered, his eyes gleaming as he peppered kisses all up Iwaizumi's flustered, sensitive neck.

Iwaizumi wasn't sure, but he suspected it was that breathy, strangled word, his precious name, that carried him over into pure, concentrated bliss. His body shook, fingertips creating depressions on Oikawa's back as his face angled up towards the ceiling, drenched in the sensation of good, oh so good, sexual fulfilment. And then Oikawa was bending over him again, guiding him through it, one hand stroking him gently to prolong his climax.

"Tooru," Iwaizumi whispered, body relaxing.

"Your Tooru," Oikawa breathed back softly, kissing the corner of Iwaizumi's mouth. "Always yours, Hajime."

Slowly coming down from his high, Iwaizumi’s gaze drifted to Oikawa’s face, angling downwards slightly as he carefully tilted his hips backwards to slip out of his body, hands running down the backs of his thighs. He caught Iwaizumi’s staring and smiled, bending forwards to slant his lips against Iwaizumi’s. Iwaizumi kissed him back breathlessly, Oikawa’s words hanging heavy in his mind and rendering him speechless.

“See? Wasn’t I amazing, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi turned his face away, sighing quietly as he elongated out his body, one palm ringing around Oikawa’s upper arm. He blew out a breath, shrugging. “You were alright, I guess.”

“Oh, don’t be so apathetic!” Oikawa chided him, grasping his chin and rotating his flaming back face to meet his eyes. “You enjoyed it, right?”

There was something more serious flowing in Oikawa’s voice, a sort of anxious cry for reassurance. Iwaizumi knew it well enough to recognise it by now. Oikawa offered him a half-smile as he stripped off the condom, tying it off and chucking it directly into the bin across his room with impressive accuracy.

It must have been a lot of pressure on him, Iwaizumi realised with dry lips. He may hate talking about his feelings, but this was different. He couldn’t afford to put on his usual casual attitude.

“Yeah,” he managed to get out, confident and assuring. “I did enjoy it. A lot, in fact.”

Oikawa let out a pleased sound of contentment deep in his chest, glowing as he drew his arms around Iwaizumi, snuggling into the perfectly-fitting curves of his body. “I loved it too, Iwa-chan! Let’s do it again sometime!”

“We still need to clean up,” Iwaizumi pointed out, but he wrapped his arms around Oikawa nonetheless, inhaling the scent of faint vanilla mingled with sweat. It worked, somehow, because it was Oikawa, and Hajime adored every single little detail about him, be it appealing or not-so-appealing. “But I’m up for that, though. Maybe the next time I have a day off.”

“And then, you’ll get to fuck me,” Oikawa stated, so gleefully that Iwaizumi’s heart skipped.

“How can you say stuff like that so blatantly?” Iwaizumi questioned, shaking his head.

“How can you not?” Oikawa countered, aiming a mocking, shitty grin up at him. “Aw, did I embarrass my little Iwa-chan? Did I maybe fluster him a bit?”

“No,” Iwaizumi maintained, placing a hand on the top of Oikawa’s head and pushing his face back down, so he didn’t see his flaming cheeks. “Not at all.”

Oikawa mumbled out a few half-hearted complaints, outstretching his hand to grab a blanket and pull it over them. Iwaizumi tried to motivate himself to get up and clean himself - and Oikawa off, but Oikawa’s warmth and drowsy blinks made it very fucking difficult to even consider moving. With a sigh, Iwaizumi subjected himself to lying there, Oikawa’s head in the crook of his arm and his body melting beside his.

Although, Iwaizumi reasoned as he massaged through Oikawa’s hair softly, he couldn’t really think of a better way to end his day off.

\----

Before Oikawa could even enjoy Iwaizumi’s constant presence around him again, it was over. Breakfast was a blur of meaningless taunts and easy kisses and Iwaizumi’s striking laughter, and Oikawa wanted it to last forever. But now he was here in the hallway again, feet scuffing at the carpet as Iwaizumi threw on his jacket.

“Don’t look so down. I’ll be back this evening,” Iwaizumi offered, reaching out a hand to tilt Oikawa’s dismal face upwards.

“I know…” Oikawa sighed, clasping Iwaizumi’s hand with his. “I just wish you didn’t have to go to work at all.”

“They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Iwaizumi suggested, tugging Oikawa closer.

“Whoever said that was full of bullshit,” Oikawa muttered unhappily, and Iwaizumi smiled, bumping noses with Oikawa briefly.

Iwaizumi’s hand rose to rest lightly against Oikawa's throat, careful not to pressurise the new bruise, proof of their dedication to each other. "Won't this get in the way of your work?"

Oikawa shook his head, lips curling into a smile. "Makeup, Iwa-chan, is a miraculous invention. And, of course, I want everyone to know in there that I'm taken."

Iwaizumi nodded, a pleased smile climbing its way onto his lips. "Alright. Good to know it won't cause you any hassle."

"The opposite," Oikawa chirped out. "Now there won't be people bugging me for my number. It becomes quite tiresome."

"Good. Because I'm really happy with you," he told him, honest and straightforward as always. “I’d rather not have people flirting with you.”

It still took Oikawa by surprise, how Iwaizumi spoke his mind so freely and openly. And so Oikawa dipped his face, cheeks aflame with embarrassment as he tried to work through the sappy gooey feeling in his chest to say something confident and cocky.

"Thanks," drifted past his lips, and he winced. "Sorry, lame response."

Iwaizumi chuckled, tilting Oikawa's face up again by the chin to place a chaste kiss on his lips. "I'll see you tonight, alright?"

"Yeah," Oikawa confirmed, but his chest was tight. "Try not to fall into despair without me, Iwa-chan."

"I'll try my very best," Iwaizumi replied, hand slipping out of Oikawa's as he pulled away. "You be good, you hear me?"

"Since when am I not?!" Oikawa retorted in indignation, placing one fist on his hip in challenge.

One side of Iwaizumi's mouth skipped upwards, betraying his affection. "Goodbye, Oikawa."

"See you~" Oikawa sang back, blowing him a kiss with a charismatic wink.

Iwaizumi waved warmly back at him before the door shut behind him, and the comforting image of his fond smile faded much too quickly for Oikawa’s liking.

Oikawa stood in the hallway, his heart having grown into brambles, slowly sinking into the soft flesh of his insides and tearing his veins open wide.

Time to swallow his fierce, wild pride. He had a horrible, horrible feeling that it would hurt all the way down.

\----

Oikawa's fingers were spanned across the strap of his gear bag, clenched and crumpled in his fist. He didn't think it would be this hard. His whole body seemed to be accelerating in time with his spurting blood, wracking his senses, freezing him up from the bones outwards. Swallowing, his hand automatically tugged down the length of his fringe, and a few tiny clumps stuck to his sweaty palms.

"Fuck," Oikawa whispered, and it felt good to curse.

All he had to do was walk one step up to the gym doors and pull the door across. It wasn’t that goddamn difficult. What was he stalling for? He was doing this for Iwaizumi, to gather money, that was all. He could drop it again the instant he received enough. 

Deep breaths. Deep fucking breaths, Oikawa told himself, but his internal voice was heightening almost to a scream that was not very calming at all.

As it turned out, he didn't have to open the door. It slid open of its own accord.

Ushijima stood in the doorway, a volleyball clasped between his large palms.

"Hello, Oikawa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did I write all the smut listening to candy shop? you can’t prove anything  
> *writes entire smut scene without mentioning penis once* nice.  
> I stg I haven’t written smut on my own since I was like…..14. that’s how rare it is.  
> also top oiks bc I felt like it (TRUST ME I’VE BEEN DEBATING THIS SINCE LIKE….CHAPTER 11.)  
> also i saw fanart of heterosexual iwa and i just…...no. no.  
> also - i say also a lot - my tumblr is gayamato if you want to hmu or whatever i reblog mostly haikyuu and iwaoi - obviously - and general anime stuff  
> (the next update will likely be the start of february, this fic has taken priority for so long but now I need to do other stuff first.)


	15. i've realised the stars are already dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which oikawa flourishes among liquor and pills, and iwaizumi starts to suspect  
> alternatively, a more depressing summary: you can't truly care for someone broken without breaking yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen...it sounds angsty as hell but the ratio of fluff to angst is like 2:1  
> trust me  
> warning: little panic attack descriptions  
> big thanks to the wonderful murtfy for proof-reading this for me!

 

Oikawa hated waiting.

It left him alone with only his mind, and no mechanical distractions could ever rival the furious whirring inside his brain, rehashing the same event over and over, bookmarking his worst moment for all to laugh at.

And so he sat on the couch, rigid and breathing shallowly, praying for Iwaizumi to come home before his self-control buckled and he latched onto the all too familiar routine. His fingers twitched around his kneecap, eyes squeezing shut, low curses swelling up out of his throat. Today had gone as terribly as he’d expected, and he didn’t want to remember it, but his sober mind was going over and over every little thing, driving his true inadequacy home. He was inferior, inferior to Kageyama, even inferior to that stupid little bouncy orange shit. And yet, he could adapt. He knew he had to hang on, and he knew he could learn to serve the team as well as he used to. He just needed practice and time, both of which his knee wouldn’t allow him to have.

A week. Oikawa needed at least a week of participating in set, official matches, even as a sub, to help Iwaizumi. Then, they'd be in the clear for a while, and Oikawa could maybe model, get a part-time job in addition to that. No other option even came close to the amount of money he'd receive as a professional athlete, even with the amount he'd sacrificed bribing the physiologist.

He just needed to get through a week, preferably without Iwa-chan suspecting anything.

Oikawa exhaled, leaning back and tipping the back of his head against the soft leather of the couch. Trying not to think about how easy it would be to walk those five minutes to the nearby shop, collect what he needed and slip back into blissful numbness, taking away all the types of pain. Oikawa shook his head weakly, wiping his dry mouth with the back of his hand. The next round started next Monday. Today was Saturday. 

He could get through a week, right?

\----

Iwaizumi smiled to himself as he slipped the key into the lock. He loved knowing that he could safely return in the evenings, knowing that Oikawa was just beyond the door, waiting for him, ready with a warm hug and a thankful kiss. Rotating the key, Iwaizumi swiftly stepped into the apartment, the tender scent wafting out to meet him, the sprinkling of quiet vanilla that was so unmistakably Oikawa.

"Oikawa?" Iwaizumi called out, the door swinging shut behind him. "You here?"

A familiar figure swung into the hallway - literally swung, one slender arm catching into the side of the doorway and propelling himself forwards gleefully. "Iwa-chan!"

Before he had even extended out his arms to accept Oikawa launching himself into an embrace, Iwaizumi knew something was off. He pinpointed what exactly it was the moment Oikawa closed his arms around his neck.

"You're drunk."

"Not at all!" Oikawa sang out, warbling slightly. "Why would you think that? Drunk? I wouldn't be drunk! Why would I be drunk? Don't be ridiculous, Iwa-chan."

He snuggled into the side of Iwaizumi's neck, letting out a peaceful sigh of breath, and Iwaizumi got hit in the nostrils with the dreaded stench.

"It wasn't a question, Oikawa. Why are you drunk? Was another match on today?"

"You're so cute! So concerned about me and my well being, so cute, really. For such a grumpy hot human you're really cute. Cute as a fuzzy baby panda. Did I tell you that you're cute?"

"You did mention it, yeah. Now answer me," Iwaizumi told him firmly, peeling apart from Oikawa and holding him by the shoulders. "Is it Kageyama?"

Oikawa giggled, wriggling underneath Iwaizumi's hands. "It's like you're going to give me a shoulder massage. You know what would be really nice right about now? A back massage. Don't you agree? We'll take turns. You should take off your shirt and I'll-"

"Oikawa. Why. Are. You. Drunk."

"Nope! No reason! These lips are sealed," Oikawa chirped, then angled his head to the side, eyes roaming downwards over Iwaizumi's body. "Unless you want to kiss me, or want these lips wrapped around your-"

"Stop," Iwaizumi commanded. "Come on."

He grabbed Oikawa's hand and led him into the sitting room, settling him down onto the couch. "Wait here. I'll get you some water."

He swiped the bottle and glass off the table before Oikawa could lunge for them, Oikawa's whine, longer and more goddamn irritating than normal, piercing through his head. Why the fuck was he drunk again? Iwaizumi thought it had been sorted out - well, the financial bit at least. His hand stilled abruptly under the tap, water leaking from the tap. It was still competition season, wasn't it? And even if Oikawa had been distracted during the day at work, when he came home...it must be the same issue, Iwaizumi realised. Nothing had changed in that regard. Yeah, it must be as he first thought. It wasn't as if Oikawa's drinking habit was suddenly going to vanish because he had a job and a boyfriend. The most Iwaizumi could hope for, at the moment at least, was improvement.

With that thought, Iwaizumi shut off the water, balancing the full glass carefully back to the sitting room. Oikawa was draped over the length of the couch, expression flat as he took another swig out of the mostly-full wine bottle grasped in his hand. Iwaizumi quickly set the water down and leaned over, snatching the newly produced bottle from Oikawa's grip before he could protest.

"Heeeeyyyy....." Oikawa whinged, lunging unsteadily forwards for the bottle in Iwaizumi's hand. "I was using that!"

Iwaizumi's mouth was cemented into a resolute line. How many damn bottles had Oikawa bought? He needed to do a thorough sweep of the apartment as soon as possible.

"You look scary, Iwa-chan," Oikawa twittered on, coupled with a nervous laugh. "Or mad. You're not mad, are you? I mean, it isn't as if I smashed up anything this time-"

"You need to stop," Iwaizumi cut across him sharply, massaging his temples.

The hurt in Oikawa's gaze made him wish he hadn't said anything - for a moment, at least. Then he clenched his jaw, and continued on. "When you're sober, we'll discuss this. We can't ignore it any longer."

That determined statement was for himself, as well. He should've done something about Oikawa's drinking sooner.

Oikawa stared up at him soundlessly, but the myriad of emotions passing through him were clear to see on his face. His lips were parted, still shimmering with the remnants of the wine, eyes creasing up and now his mouth was wobbling...oh fuck, he was going to cry, wasn't he? Iwaizumi started forwards, then stopped, unsure of how to comfort.

"You look so disappointed in me," came the cracked whisper. "But I can't help it. Iwa-chan," he pleaded, lurching upwards to grab onto his arm. "Don't look at me like that! I can't help it, it's how I've always dealt-"

"I told you," Iwaizumi interrupted, softening out his expression and bending over to gently settle Oikawa back down onto the sofa. "We'll discuss this when you're sober. Don't worry about it for now. Come on, drink some water," he said firmly, reaching for the glass on the table even as Oikawa shook his head.

"I don't want to sober up," he insisted, arching his face away from the rim of the glass. His gaze flickered up to meet Iwaizumi's, and he made a noise in the back of his throat, curling away to press his face into the arm of the couch. "Stop it! Stop looking at me like that! This is why..." A short, stifled sound. It could've been a hiccup, or a sob. Iwaizumi couldn't tell. "I hate people seeing me like this. Go away! I'm fine on my own!"

Oikawa's voice was high-pitched and warbling. Iwaizumi sat down on the side of the couch, twisting his upper body to face Oikawa's curved back, his tall frame preventing him from shrinking into foetal position without toppling off the sofa. Iwaizumi outstretched a soft palm and lay it on Oikawa's shoulder, squeezing it faintly.

"Oikawa, I'm not going to go away. Even if you want me to."

There was a second of heavy silence before Oikawa answered.

"I don't."

And because it seemed the natural thing to do, Iwaizumi shifted his body around further, bending over to place a tender kiss on the side of Oikawa's back. He could feel Oikawa tense beneath his touches, and he pulled back slightly, hovering over Oikawa's bent body and wishing he could see his expression. He hadn't had to deal with a situation like this in years - well, to be precise, never, really. He definitely hadn't been the sober one, in any case. He felt like he was fumbling along a narrow, swaying bridge above a gigantic chasm carrying Oikawa in his arms, kicking and writhing, and if he made one wrong move, or let go of Oikawa, down they both would fall.

His hand dropped down from Oikawa's shoulder, running down his arm held in tight to his body, and sought out his hand, clamped into a sweaty fist. He tenderly slipped his fingers in between Oikawa's, thumb drifting over his. Once again, he kissed Oikawa's neck, and this time Oikawa didn't tense up.

"It's okay," Iwaizumi murmured. "I'm not going to leave you, Tooru."

He heard Oikawa exhale deeply, his body elongating again, his damp hands clutching around Iwaizumi's, almost in a silent question. 

"I mean it," Iwaizumi reassured him without any hesitation, any doubt.

Oikawa's inhale was gritty and gulped, but thankful. He slowly shifted his body back around to face Iwaizumi, eyes still not meeting his, hands still tightly bound to Iwaizumi's. Without another word, he sat up, the rims of his eyes swollen and red. Iwaizumi didn't say anything either, simply winding his arm around Oikawa's waist and pressing his face into his shoulder. Oikawa moved further forward, legs slinging around Iwaizumi's waist as he rested himself in his lap, fingers clawing onto the bottom hemline of Iwaizumi's shirt. As if he wanted to cling into him but was afraid, fearful of being too frantic for comfort, too desperate, too needy. Iwaizumi closed his eyes, feeling Oikawa's hair rustle quietly against his ear as he settled his face into the crook of Iwaizumi's neck and shoulder. His actions were lethargic, almost as if he was drugged - in a way, he was - and timid, like doubt was only a few metres away, wriggling its hindquarters and ready to pounce, snap him up. Despite knowing better rationally, Iwaizumi realised, he was still terrified. Absolutely terrified of scaring off the one person who'd stayed this long, but unable to cope alone, unable to stop himself from drowning in habits born of years of bitterness.

Iwaizumi was scared too. Scared of coming home and finding Oikawa's fears had gotten the best of him, snapped up his mind until there were only the stink of split alcohol, smoke and vomit. He didn't want a repeat of last time, much less a worse event.

He held Oikawa tighter to his chest, and felt Oikawa slump forwards, tiredness swallowing him up. His unwavering grip on Iwaizumi's hand remained as strong as ever, though. Oikawa’s chest swelled against his, his head lolling sideways against Iwaizumi’s. He seemed to murmur something indistinguishable, and Iwaizumi opened his eyes, carding his fingers through his hair, quietly asking, “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Oikawa mumbled. “Wish I could go to sleep.” 

“Why don’t you?”

Oikawa sighed lightly, eyelids drooping. “I want to talk to you. I’m tired, but I can sleep when you’re not here. How was your day?”

“Hey, look at that, drunk Tooru can be serious too,” Iwaizumi teased mildly, twirling a light brown strand around his index finger, almost transfixed by the texture. Every part of Oikawa was extraordinary in one way or another, it appeared. 

“Sad drunks are serious,” Oikawa muttered back.”So how was it?”

“It was alright,” Iwaizumi responded, shrugging. “The usual, really.”

“I don’t know what the usual is,” Oikawa said lowly. “Tell me.”

“It’s not very exciting though. There’s no point in telling you.”

“Tell me,” Oikawa insisted. “I want to know, even if it is boring.”

Iwaizumi shook his head. “How about you? How was the first day on the job?”

Oikawa was silent for a heartbeat too long. “Fine.”

“Did something happen?”

“No.”

“Oikawa, be honest with me.” Iwaizumi’s voice grew sterner, feeling Oikawa attempt to recoil, recoil back from him, face angling away from Iwaizumi's burning gaze. 

"Please don't make me tell you," Oikawa whispered quietly. "It's nothing bad, I promise you. I just...can't tell you yet." 

Iwaizumi pressed his lips together tightly, trying to banish the coil of unease his stomach was sickening up into his throat. He didn't like the sound of that. Possibilities dashed through his mind, turning darker and darker with each one. 

"Nobody's giving you hassle for being gay, right?" Iwaizumi asked lowly. "Or trying to force themselves onto you?"

Oikawa shook his head. "Nothing like that. Nothing like that at all, I promise you.” Then he forced a smile onto his lips, stiff and ugly. "Don't worry about me, Iwa-chan! I know how to take care of myself!" 

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. "If you knew that, you wouldn't be drunk right now." 

"I'm not that drunk," Oikawa insisted. 

"That's what you say every time." 

"Not the most recent time!" Oikawa cheerily informed him, eyes still locked somewhere beyond him.

Iwaizumi sighed, rubbing his hands down his face. “Fine. I’ll let it go, on condition that you tell me soon, alright? And by soon, I mean in the next week. Don’t try to pull the ‘later’ shit on me.”

"'Course not," Oikawa murmured. "I promise." 

He laced his pinky finger through Iwaizumi's, who glanced down, amused. 

"How old are you?" 

"Shut up," Oikawa mumbled, cheeks turning a light shade of pink. "It helps, okay?" 

Iwaizumi smiled, squeezing Oikawa's hand. "Alright. So it's a pinky promise then." 

"Yeah." Oikawa's mouth split into a responding smile, and Iwaizumi was glad to see how naturally it hung onto his lips.

There was a thick moment of silence where they only smiled at each other. 

Sappy, crossed Iwaizumi's mind, but that only increased his smile. He really didn't mind if it was Oikawa. 

Oikawa's eyes travelled slow over Iwaizumi's face, and his smile faded. 

"Talk to me," he said. 

"What?"

"Tell me about your childhood. Your first girlfriend, your high school friend group, you being the ace of the team. Anything." Oikawa hesitated for an instant. "About your brother. I want to know all of it." 

Taken aback for a moment, Iwaizumi's eyes widened, and his hand tightened around Oikawa's. "Why? I mean...it's not going to be interesting. I'm not a great storyteller, either. I can't make it exciting." 

"I don't want it to be exciting, Iwa-chan," Oikawa laughed out, still giddy. "You don't understand! I want to know everything about you, everything that I wasn't there for." 

"I'd say you know me pretty well by now, though." 

"Why are you resisting so much?" Oikawa pouted. "This only makes me want to know stuff more.  Isn’t it natural to want to know about those you love? " 

"But I'm telling you, you'd be bored out of your skull. My life was an ordinary one, mostly, anyway." 

Iwaizumi was arguing back automatically before he realised what Oikawa had said. Love. His skin prickled, heart hot in his chest, like someone had put a match to ignite his blood. 

Did he mean it?

Was it just the alcohol talking? 

Think about it later, Iwaizumi thought, somewhat mentally breathless. With an immense amount of effort, he managed to propel it into the back of his mind, where it lay right beside the fear that Oikawa's growing alcoholism might get the better of him. 

Oikawa hadn't appeared to notice a thing, his defiant lips sliding outwards in a pout as he watched. He didn't seem to even realise that he'd mentioned something so significant. "Then, if you won't talk to me, I won't talk to you," he declared grumpily, starting to move off of Iwaizumi's lap to sit on the couch. 

"Jesus, how old are you?" Iwaizumi sighed out. "I'd like not to have to deal with a five year old having a temper tantrum." 

Oikawa glowered at him as he pulled up his legs underneath him, nestles in the corner, but stayed mute. He did raise a hand to flip Iwaizumi off, though. Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, plopping himself down beside him, hip pressing against Oikawa's curled-up legs. "If you have nothing to say, I'll go make some dinner. Want anything?"

He stood up and glanced over, but Oikawa was stubbornly looking away. Shrugging, Iwaizumi walked away, hands in his pockets. "Guess not." 

\---

He came back in a while later, and soundlessly flopped down beside a sullen Oikawa again, handing him a bowl of a simple rice dish. Oikawa took it, leaning forward to place the laptop on the table. To Iwaizumi's relief, there were no bottles hanging around, and Oikawa seemed to be a bit more comprehending. He’d done a sweep of the rest of the house, and had safely poured everything he’d found down the sink, as wasteful as it was. He wasn’t taking any chances. 

"Shit movie," Iwaizumi commented, dully observing the 1980's quality effects. 

Oikawa's lips parted instinctively to defend it, then he clamped them shut again with a loud, huffy exhale of breath through his nose. He slung his legs over Iwaizumi's lap in an act of stubbornness and placed the bowl in his own, staring Iwaizumi down as he ate. Since it was the evening, he’d already removed his contacts, and the black plastic framed his face perfectly as he apparently tried to smoulder a hole between Iwaizumi’s eyes. 

"That's not going to make me feel guilty," Iwaizumi commented offhandedly, throwing him an unimpressed glance. 

Oikawa scowled at him, his cheeks puffed up with food, causing Iwaizumi to snort. "You look like an offended hamster." 

That earned him a dig from Oikawa's toes into the side of his thigh. 

"Wow, that really hurt." 

The ball of Oikawa's foot slammed into the side of his hip, and a grain of rice, dislodged from the main mass, shot into Iwaizumi's trachea. He burst out into irritated coughing, and Oikawa sat up quickly, concern widening his eyes and loosening his tongue. 

"Iwa-chan? You're not choking, are you? Please say you're not choking I don't want you to die on my couch and then if you die it’d be my fault and-" 

"I'm not choking, idiot," Iwaizumi managed to spout out, hacking up the slimy, problematic grain with a last wheeze. "If I was choking I wouldn't be able to cough, dumbass." 

"Oh." Oikawa sunk back into his previous position, slumped against the armrest with his arms folded. "That doesn't count, by the way. I'm still not talking to you." 

"I'm perfectly fine with that," Iwaizumi answered, tucking back into his meal with only a slightly deterred attitude. 

They polished off their food looking at whatever B-rated movie Oikawa chose - something about a man morphing into a giant snake-cat creature as a result of an attempt to save his life after being blasted with a radioactive bus. Iwaizumi, for some reason, couldn't quite get into it.

Bored, his hand snaked around Oikawa's foot, and Oikawa started, pulling back his foot instinctively. Iwaizumi's eyes narrowed with a suspicion, and he began tugging Oikawa's sock off.

They locked gazes. 

"Do. Not," Oikawa ordered, face paling. 

Iwaizumi pulled his sock off completely, clutching Oikawa's ankle in a death grip. "Why not?" 

"Because," Oikawa said, in a slow, measured voice. "If you touch the sole of my foot, I will attempt to smother you in your sleep." 

"Hmm, tempting," Iwaizumi confessed, the pad of his thumb drifting just centimetres above the ball of his foot. "Seems like you're talking to me now, though." 

Oikawa immediately clammed up, but his threatening glower said it all. Touch the foot and die. 

Iwaizumi smiled and rubbed his thumb all the way down the length of his sole. Oikawa's leg jerked in his hand instantly, a foul protest shooting up into the air. His other foot kicked out wildly, and Iwaizumi dodged around the strike, still brushing his fingers along the length of his foot, focusing on the soft instep. Oikawa's cries became more and more indistinguishable from his actual words, glasses skewing on his nose, and after about ten seconds Iwaizumi decided to show mercy. 

Oikawa ripped his feet from Iwaizumi's grasp instantly, giving him a death glare as he straightened out his frames. "You're an absolute monster." 

"You're not very good at not talking to people, are you?" Iwaizumi asked, amused at his hurt expression. 

"I only want you to talk to me," Oikawa huffed out, turning towards the abandoned film. “I didn’t think that was too much to ask, but apparently it is.”

“Christ, you’re so salty,” Iwaizumi observed, and he leaned against Oikawa’s side, slinging an arm around his shoulders casually.  

Oikawa shrugged him off moodily, gaze not moving from the laptop screen. 

Iwaizumi heaved a sigh, cursing Oikawa and his emotional blackmailing. "I did have a few wild years in my teens I could tell you about, I suppose." 

Oikawa perked up instantly, rotating towards him again with a gleam in his eyes. "Really? How wild?"

"The only reason I don't have a petty criminal record is because they never caught me. That amount of wild." 

Oikawa's eyes were shining. "Tell me." 

Iwaizumi grimaced. He didn’t like talking about himself, but he started anyway, the words swirling around on his tongue, and after a while they began to come easier. 

"I didn't really have any responsibilities, so I wasn't really sensible. At all. Shou could fend for himself - he had more common sense than I did - and my mom was always out of the house, so I was kind of on my own. I grew irresponsible - now, if I had a giant man-child like you to look after, it might've been different, but because maturity was never required of me, I never really developed it." 

"But you're so boring and responsible now." 

Iwaizumi gave Oikawa a shove, who laughed. “You have to admit I have a point, Iwa-chan.”

"That's because I had to be. I mean, when the car crash happened, I had to go out and find work and learn how to manage by myself. But we're talking about before that." 

Oikawa reclined back, shutting down the laptop cover and tucking himself in against Iwaizumi’s side, warm and attentive. “Then tell me more.”

 

Iwaizumi hesitated for a moment, then continued on, sometimes getting the timeline mixed up, sometimes having to stop and think about the details, but Oikawa was always there, listening. He absorbed stories of Iwaizumi’s fading memories of his father, the acute ones of falling in and out of school in favour of chasing after a rush, the unnerving one of finding himself being attracted to a boy for the first time. Iwaizumi told him almost everything that evening, about his borderline-wild exploits with his friends, about his countless arguments with his equally stubborn brother and mother, about his first kiss at thirteen, an innocent little peck from a girl under a streetlight when walking her home. 

 

And when Oikawa’s breathing eventually evened out and his eyelids drooped closed, Iwaizumi stopped talking. His throat and mouth were parched. He couldn’t remember when he’d ever chatted on for that long, and especially not about himself. 

Somehow, Iwaizumi thought as he bent over, brushing Oikawa’s fringe out of the way to kiss his forehead, I feel better. Fuller, even though I’ve emptied myself out to him. 

 

He took a glance at the clock. Late, as he suspected. His fingers drifted absently through Oikawa’s caramel hair, shifting and rearranging the strands on a whim, and Oikawa, already deeply asleep, murmured something indistinct, snuggling himself into Iwaizumi’s side more. Although he’d never admit it, Iwaizumi smiled, tired himself but not willing to move just yet. He’d rather cherish this instant in time for a little while longer. His fingers skimmed over the plastic sides of his glasses, and removed them carefully, folding them neatly on the table in front of them. 

Then he thought of Oikawa when he’d returned home, and his smile whipped away like a shard of broken plastic in the wind. It seemed to be all alright now, but he knew it had to happen again, probably with a much drunker Oikawa. He didn’t know  if he’d done a good job dealing with him or what to do - he was literally only riding on his gut instincts and nothing more. Should he have told Oikawa that they had to talk right then? Iwaizumi bit his lower lip, glancing down at his slumbering form again. He was floundering, but he couldn’t let it show. It would only throw Oikawa off more, and do more harm than good. 

An idea struck him, and he sighed, but chose to follow up. It was the best option he had, even though he wasn’t expecting to get any actual proper advice. But you never know, he could be lucky. 

 

**oik’s friendly hedgehog:** Can you tell me more about Oikawa when he's drunk?

 

Iwaizumi had to wait a good few minutes for a reply. 

 

**Matsukawa:** mm, yeah but don't tell him we told u ok

**oik’s friendly hedgehog:** Yeah, of course.

**Matsukawa** : well, there's stage one firstly. he's alright, like he's a regular drunk bit giggly says exactly what's on his mind whatever that's like after just a few drinks

stop him there it wears off after a  few hours

 

Iwaizumi nodded his head. That must've been today, he figured.

 

**oik’s friendly hedgehog** : Then?

**Matsukawa:** we like to call this one the danger zone. he's quiet and thoughtful and will snap at you if you go anywhere near him. if he's at this stage, you gotta take everything off of him before he gets moody. that's the start of stage three.

**oik’s friendly hedgehog:** And stage three?

**Matsukawa:** you saw the results of that already. there isn't much you can do except wait it out.

 

Iwaizumi's forehead creased into a frown, his arm tightening unconsciously around Oikawa’s sloping shoulders.

 

**oik’s friendly hedgehog** : Really? There's nothing I can do?

**Matsukawa:** idk we've tried a lot and nothing has worked to calm him down so like we just started making sure he couldn't hurt himself or others and waiting it out

**oik’s friendly hedgehog:** It's that bad?

**Matsukawa:** depends rly it varies but usually it's fairly bad if u let it progress and don’t shut it down quick

just keep him away from drink

**oik’s friendly hedgehog:** I can't. I'm not home during the day and there's nothing stopping him from buying more.

**Matsukawa:** well u have to try

we can drop over some afternoons but our lives can't revolve around him nd his issues

it sounds cold but it's the truth

**oik’s friendly hedgehog:** No, I understand that. Thanks anyway. I’ll keep it in mind.

**Matsukawa:** nbz have fun banging oiks

use a condom kids

**oik’s friendly hedgehog:** I’m gonna go and sleep now.

**Matsukawa:** sleep or smth else  ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )

**oik’s friendly hedgehog:** Sleep. Goodnight.

 

Iwaizumi locked his phone and shoved it back in his pocket before he could read Matsukawa’s reply. Surprisingly, he was a lot more helpful than Iwaizumi thought he’d be - before it all went downhill, of course. Shifting around - gently, so not to disturb Oikawa - he curled his arms around him, folding him into his chest. God, this was awkward. He had to manoeuvre Oikawa without waking him - damn him, he was such a light sleeper - to slip an arm underneath his and another just below the hinge of his knees, then somehow just ...carefully roll him to lean against Iwaizumi’s chest. 

“Hm?” Oikawa mumbled out just as Iwaizumi was straightening up. God damn it. 

“Of course you had to wake up,” Iwaizumi sighed out lightly as Oikawa’s eyes cracked open, drearily tracing Iwaizumi’s face. “You’re such an awkward person.”

“High praise from you,” Oikawa murmured back, closing his eyes again and resting his head in the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck. 

“Shut up and go back to sleep,” Iwaizumi told him, padding down the hallway to their bedroom. 

“So sweet, Hajime…” Oikawa answered slowly, but Iwaizumi could tell that the serene rocking sensation of his steps was already goading him back into dreamland. 

“I’ll be joining you soon, anyway,” Iwaizumi hummed back, turning around to push open the door with his back and closing the space between them and the bed.

It was another awkward venture to pull back the sheets without letting go of Oikawa - Iwaizumi would’ve dropped him if he was more coherent, but somehow he suspected that he’d end up injuring himself if he did that - but he struggled on, and managed it eventually. By the time he eased Oikawa in between the sheets, his arms felt like they were numb - the burning stage had long passed. Oikawa shifted dangerously close to the edge, and Iwaizumi lunged for him, but he was okay - just shy of the toppling point. Sighing, Iwaizumi straightened again, rubbing up the back of his head. 

“You really are a troublesome man,” he informed him lowly, watching how Oikawa seemed to hunch himself up as small as possible on instinct alone, as if he was attempting to fold all his limbs into himself. 

Bending over, Iwaizumi drew the bed-sheets back over him, pausing midway to detangle a bit of hair that had become caught in his eyelashes. Honestly, Oikawa was a bother at times, but a welcome one. Iwaizumi, heading to the bathroom, wondered what would his life be like if he’d never stepped in to help him, if Oikawa had not been so confused by his actions that he’d followed him and gotten lost. 

Well, he’d definitely still be working, still in his shitty little apartment and waiting until he collapsed of exhaustion again. 

Huh, Iwaizumi realised as he splashed water up onto his face. I really do owe him a lot. 

Not to mention, he was undoubtedly a lot happier now, a lot less lonely. Iwaizumi took out his toothbrush, a crease forming between his eyebrows. The thing was

_ isn’t it natural to want to know about those you love?  _

did he love him? 

Iwaizumi  couldn’t remember ever being with someone long enough to even come close to what he felt for Oikawa. He could identify platonic love from romantic love, of course, but with Oikawa, it was like the line was blurry somehow, a half-scrawled chalk drawing by a child, careless footsteps scuffed all over the pavement. Iwaizumi just wasn’t sure. 

Squeezing the toothpaste on absently, Iwaizumi stuck it into his mouth, robotically polishing his teeth as he thought. And even if he did love him, was he  _ in _ love with him? Was there a difference? Was one stronger than the other? Did Oikawa just mean he loved him in a platonic way, even though their relationship clearly wasn’t platonic? (Iwaizumi smiled around his brush at that.) Was it possible to be sexually attracted to someone and love them as a friend but not romantically? Did Oikawa mean that he loved him, but he wasn’t “in love,” per se?

Iwaizumi spat out his froth, and groaned. This was becoming way too complicated for him. He should simply ask Oikawa what he meant - if he even remembered telling Iwaizumi that. Wow, it’d be embarrassing if it was only the alcohol speaking through his lips. Still, it’d be better than racking his head until he ended up in an emotional mess. He had enough to worry about without all the internal, angsty and totally unnecessary-if-they-just-talked-about-it headgames.

Rinsing out his mouth, Iwaizumi combed his hands back through his hair, allowing himself one last, deep sigh. Alright. Needless to say, the question would bother him until he figured it out, but he could ponder about it later. Now, though, he was tired, and all he wanted to do was curl around Oikawa, press his nose against those soft, vanilla-tinged tufts of hair, and sleep. 

He returned to the bedroom, and Oikawa looked even smaller and more scrunched up than he was when he left. It suddenly occurred to Iwaizumi that Oikawa didn’t look at peace when he was sleeping - he looked sad, with the corners of his mouth drawn downwards and his eyebrows not quite slack, worried. As if sensing Iwaizumi’s gaze on him, his fingers clenched momentarily around the sheets clutched to his chest, his lips mumbling some unformed words into his lingering breath. 

“Hey,” Iwaizumi said softly, leaning over and kissing his temple. “It’s okay, Tooru.”

Oikawa’s position didn’t change, but Iwaizumi thought he saw his fingers relax a little, his breaths a little lighter. He stepped back and stripped down to his boxers, pulling an old t-shirt over his head. He paused, wondering if he should wake Oikawa up to stop his clothes feeling all gross and wrinkly in the morning - not to mention the stink of unbrushed teeth - then glanced over at him again, and his expression softened. It wasn’t as if Oikawa caught sleep that often. He’d let him sleep on - it wasn’t as if he didn’t have fresh clothes, and teeth could always be brushed in the morning. 

Lifting up one side of the sheets, Iwaizumi slipped in beside him, facing him, gently unfurling his beautiful  fingers and edging his own between them, easing out the tenseness. He settled his forehead against Oikawa’s, mindful of his silent disquiet, and wondered if he was having a nightmare. His forehead was damp, as was his fingers, and, as Iwaizumi’s eyes tracked over his face, his expression wasn’t becoming any more tranquil. Maybe he should wake him. 

“Oi,” Iwaizumi started, soft and low. “I hope you’re not having a nightmare,  but if you are, I’m going to wake you up. That alright with you?”

However, as he murmured, Oikawa’s body was relaxing by itself, his expression smoothing out and his fingers felt loose in Iwaizumi’s grasp. Iwaizumi figured out what was going on quick enough, and he smiled, kissing Oikawa’s nose briefly. 

“I think I’ve talked enough to you for one day, but you think otherwise, don’t you?” Iwaizumi asked, and even though Oikawa didn’t reply, he responded in another way - a floaty sigh of contentment which seemed to drift with an air of comfort. Iwaizumi couldn’t refuse. 

“You really are a demanding man, even when you’re asleep,” Iwaizumi sighed out. 

He began, for the second time that night, talking, hushed and in a steady murmur, to Oikawa. Or rather, for Oikawa. He paid less than no attention to the flow of stories emptying out from his soul, figuring that Oikawa wouldn't recall anything anyway. Because of this, he also held nothing back. Even when his own eyes were starchy with the desire for sleep and his lips cracking with the length of uninterrupted whispering, he continued on, on until Oikawa’s fingers were slack and the sweat dry on his skin. Memories gushed out as easy and free as fireflies spinning light through a dark forest, recalling the time he broke his arm by falling off a swing while waving to someone, remembering the teenage pain of having to choose between soccer and volleyball, and the searing agony of having his family vanish within the space of a single misjudgement. 

Iwaizumi spoke on into the night, and Oikawa’s dreams rested warm in his mind. 

\-----------------

Unsurprisingly enough, Oikawa was the first one to wake in the morning. He rolled over, tugging the sheets up around his freezing shoulders, and the backs of his fingers brushed against warm skin. Blearily, he smiled and cracked open his eyes, as quickly as he could manage. He wanted to see Iwa-chan, and he was fortunate enough that there was just enough sunlight creaking in through the curtains for him to see.

He wasn't disappointed. 

Oikawa had rarely seen Iwaizumi's face so relaxed, void of any sternness or worry, blank and with a quiet serenity that made Oikawa's heart thrum fast in his chest. His unjustly lengthy eyelashes cast shadow like black ghosts onto his cheeks, wide lips parted ever so slightly to let out a thin strand of drool. It was disgusting, but Oikawa was fond of him enough to pass it off as endearing. He probably did the same thing anyways. 

Satisfied, Oikawa outstretched a finger, tracing a line down his unfairly straight nose, hesitating just before his lips, then continued on, more tender than ever. There was a fluttering in his chest as the pad of his finger rounded his chin, a sort of subtle thundering in his veins he'd never felt before, but he knew what it was. Dropping his hand, Oikawa nestled close, nudging his arm underneath Iwaizumi’s side and easing himself forward, carefully cuddling against Iwaizumi's clothed chest. He sighed softly, settling his head down on the pillow again, noses hardly any space apart. 

God, he was in way too deep. 

\---

Iwaizumi woke with Oikawa's pale lips caressing his softly, like flowing silk.

\-----

“You don't have to work today, do you?”

Oikawa, rotating his face away from Iwaizumi, bit his lower lip. “I do.”

There was a match tomorrow, and there was no chance in hell the coach would give them a rest day right before it. Oikawa knew it was unlikely he'd even step onto the court, having only attended one practice so far, but he needed to train more anyway. He couldn't afford to miss this. He withheld a sigh, propping himself up onto his elbows, the sheets slipping down to cling to the smooth curve of his lower back. 

“Oh. Alright.” 

Iwaizumi turned back to the wardrobe, and Oikawa's fingers hastily began combing out his bangs. 

“I was just thinking that maybe, you know, we could go somewhere today, since you did insist I take one whole day off a week,” Iwaizumi explained, tugging off his sleeping t-shirt to don another, smarter one with kanji drawn down the front. 

Oikawa's eyes followed the fluid movement of his wavering back muscles before they were hidden by cloth - evident, but not too “in your face,” or prominent, there but not showy. Sighing yet again, and feeling more than a little bit guilty, Oikawa dropped his face down onto the mattress. 

“I'm sorry, Iwa-chan. I really am, but I can't miss today.” 

“Maybe next week, then?” Iwaizumi suggested, hopping into his jeans.

“Of course,” Oikawa agreed, a hand elegantly swooping through the air. “I couldn't let Iwa-chan become too lonely without me.” 

Iwaizumi turned his head around just enough to shoot him a sideways glare, following it with a sarcastic roll of his eyes. “Yeah. Because that'll happen.” 

“You take me for granted,” Oikawa huffed out, sticking out his lower lip stubbornly. “You shouldn't. One day I'll get fed up and leave you for someone who'll appreciate and worship me properly.” 

“Wow, sounds like a really healthy relationship there,” Iwaizumi deadpanned, plopping down onto the edge of the bed to pull on his socks.

Oikawa wasted no time in shuffling over to him, draping his arms around his neck and drawing him back against his chest. He dropped his chin down on Iwaizumi’s shoulder, watching as he mutely rolled on his socks. He should really be getting dressed too, he knew, but he'd rather pester Iwaizumi. 

Speaking of which… Oikawa thought, then nipped at Iwaizumi’s ear. 

“What are you doing?” came Iwaizumi's predictable, grouchy voice. “That hurt.” 

Oikawa's legs slid further around Iwaizumi’s waist, closing in on his thighs as he nuzzled his way down his neck, kissing, biting lightly, sucking. He gave him no answer, only the slow drag of his palm up underneath the front of his shirt, over the firm torso. 

“I don't know whether to be worried or delighted about your silence,” Iwaizumi commented, and Oikawa let out a little puff of indignation against his neck. 

“Delighted, obviously! I'm giving you my utmost attention,” Oikawa replied, slightly ticked off. 

“And I'm supposed to be happy about that?” Iwaizumi murmured, turning his head to lock eyes with Oikawa, his gaze a lot softer than his words. 

“Yes! You are!” Oikawa insisted, staring back at him adamantly, and Iwaizumi's mouth curved up into a tiny smile. 

“Then maybe I am.” 

He pressed his lips to Oikawa's, twisting his body around a bit to make it less awkward. Oikawa returned the kiss in full, catching his lower lip between his teeth and tugging carefully as soon as it was over. Iwaizumi gazed at him for a moment, then spoke, voice quiet, serious.

“I meant what I said yesterday, you know.”

“And what was that?” Oikawa asked lightly, although the horrible sinking feeling in his stomach told him he already knew exactly what it was. 

Iwaizumi wet his lips. “Your drinking.” 

Oikawa's answering smile was strained, more rigid than any grin he'd had to force for a good while. He swallowed thickly, and his gaze dropped as he pulled back, feeling Iwaizumi’s eyes pierce into him. Oikawa's hands linked together anxiously, tying together and untangling rapidly, his breathing becoming fast and heavy. 

“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi questioned, and his eyes lost the sharpness as he moved further onto the bed, facing Oikawa fully. “Oikawa, are you okay?” 

Oikawa nodded jerkily, his hands pale, paler than his skin would be in death. He had expected this. He knew this was coming. And yet, here it was, the panic. The utmost fear that Hajime would leave, leave him if he didn't control it, but he couldn't. He couldn't, and the thought of admitting that was terrifying. 

Cool skin on his fractured his thoughts, scattering them as he instinctively jolted away. 

“Hey,” Iwaizumi said gently, his hand clasped over Oikawa's sweaty, twisted ones. “Look at me. You're okay. You're okay.” 

Oikawa's eyes met his, and another rasping breath raked up his throat, constricted chest feeling like it was filled with razors, tearing him up from the inside. Alarm crept into Iwaizumi's expression for a second, but he quickly masked it over, speaking quiet and reassuringly to him. 

“Tooru, you're okay. Breathe with me, keep your eyes on me, you're okay…”

And so on, until what seemed like a lifetime faded away, until Oikawa's breaths were steady and his palms dry. 

“I'm sorry,” was the first thing out of Iwaizumi’s mouth. 

Oikawa shook his head numbly. “It isn't your fault.” 

“We'll discuss it when you're ready,” Iwaizumi told him, and his hand caught the back of Oikawa's head, pressing their foreheads together. 

Oikawa nodded mutely, shutting his eyes and soaking up the warmth from Iwaizumi's closeness. He was assured, himself, and his very presence made Oikawa feel safe, like the ghosting, tender sensation of wrapping your palms around a hot drink on an icy day. Yet guilt was also prickling all over him. He couldn't even think about the subject without that happening, but if he didn't, however patient Iwaizumi was with him, he would tire. Oikawa knew that, and it was the thing that scared him most of all. 

“I have to go,” he whispered out, not wanting to move. 

He felt Iwaizumi's fingers grip the back of his neck tighter, and he knew he didn't want to let go either. They shared a few silent, intimate breaths like that, eyes shut, foreheads resting together, Iwaizumi's fingers slowly relaxing in his hair. Then Oikawa pulled away, and Iwaizumi's fingers melted off his neck, slinking down his jaw as he opened his eyes. 

“Alright.”

Iwaizumi’s trusting eyes scanned his face, and Oikawa knew that he was thinking about kissing him, but he held off, choosing to shift off the edge of the bed, standing up. He outstretched his hand, and Oikawa accepted it after a moment, allowing him to guide him onto his feet. 

“Get ready,” Iwaizumi told him, moving away. “I'll make something to eat.” 

“Okay,” Oikawa submitted, subdued. His bare shoulders crumpled upwards as Iwaizumi left the room, and horrible, horrible shame rippled through him. Fuck, he was pathetic. Iwa-chan could reassure him all he wanted that he wasn't going to leave him, but Oikawa's mind kept on insisting over and over that he was, that he wasn't going to put up with his self-destructive nature forever. And the thought of talking about it with him - discussing it openly, admitting to him that the urge overwhelmed him at times … the mere idea made Oikawa's fists clench shut and his heart stop dead in his chest. 

Oikawa exhaled shakily, ignoring the trembling within him and dressing himself. Get over it, he told himself harshly. You have practice to go to, and you think that'll be any easier? Part with good terms with Iwa-chan, at the very least. You can do that much, can't you? 

Slipping into his runners, Oikawa dragged his hands down his face, covering it as he tried to convince himself that he could handle training. He swallowed, and the urge to calm his nerves arose, just one shot would do it, only to settle him down. He could get a small bottle on the way there and it would help ease the pain in his knee too-

“Stop,” Oikawa muttered, nails digging into his soft cheeks.

That sort of thinking was what got him into this situation in the first place. Taking a deep gulp of air, Oikawa's hands dropped down from his face, and he stood up, walking into the bathroom. Stooping over and splashing cold water into his face, Oikawa gritted his teeth. Iwaizumi would be at home at least most of today - he would help deter Oikawa's liquid lust.

He wouldn't get drunk today, he promised himself. No matter how badly he wanted to.

\------

Iwaizumi's gaze shifted over to the kitchen doorway as soon as he heard soft footsteps, trying to judge Oikawa's mental state the best he could. He saw his square, if slightly heightened, shoulders, his upwards-tilted chin, and the clear stubbornness running through his eyes, and breathed a sigh of relief. 

“What is it?” Oikawa challenged, striking an elaborate pose involving a lot of hipwork. “I know I'm so beautiful that you can barely take your eyes off of me, but I do need some privacy, you should know.” 

Iwaizumi hesitated before answering, carefully measuring up the slightly fluctuations in his otherwise slick voice. He turned back to the stove. 

“Nothing. When will you be back?” 

Oikawa heaved a sigh, dragging a hand back through his hair as he dumped himself into a chair. He thought that maybe resuming the public act would make him feel better, but seeing how flat it fell with Iwaizumi, he wasn't feeling very encouraged. He cupped his hands around his face, elbows propped up on the table surface huffily. 

“Iwa-chan, how do you deal with going into work when you feel like shit?” 

Iwaizumi glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, then away quickly, almost guiltily. “I asked you a question first.” 

“Oh, well…” Oikawa scrunched up his nose, trying to judge how long he'd be. “Like, around four or so? Maybe six, at the latest.” 

“That's a broad range.” 

“Oh, you know how photoshoots are,” Oikawa twittered out, waving a hand in the air. “The photographers can be particular! It's hard to say when they'll be finished.” 

“Want me to drop some lunch in?” 

“No, no, I'll get something there, don't worry!” Oikawa rapidly declined. “Now it's your turn to reply to my question, anyways.”

Iwaizumi hummed as he moved over to the cupboards, producing two plates. “I never thought you'd be asking me how to put a front up in public.” 

“Just answer the question! I need advice,” Oikawa whined out, dropping his chin into the table. “I can't be sad around people that aren't you! Help your boyfriend out here.” 

Iwaizumi loaded the hastily-made breakfast onto the plates, letting out a quiet snort of amusement. “Can't be sad around people who aren't me, huh?” 

“It's worse than picking your nose in public,” Oikawa declared. “I could kiss all my enraptured fangirls goodbye if that happened. It's like personally slaughtering your social status.” 

“I won't be much use then,” Iwaizumi told him, sliding breakfast over to him, then hopping onto a seat beside him. “I don't care for any of those things.” 

“I dooo,” Oikawa complained, prodding at his food moodily. “Come on, help me out here. Even a little.” 

“Well,” Iwaizumi began thoughtfully. “I like to keep distracted. Focus on whatever you're doing - it's better if you're doing something you're good at - and don't bathe in self-pity. It'll only make it worse.” 

“Mm, I suppose that's semi-useful advice,” Oikawa grumpily replied, his cheek sinking down onto his fist. 

“You didn't expect my advice to be?” 

“I dunno,” Oikawa sighed out. “I'd rather be happy.”

“You can't expect to be happy all the time.”

“Even contentment will do!” Oikawa burst out, frustrated. “What makes me happy? I need to…do something.”

Oikawa hummed thoughtfully, prodding at his breakfast with no apparent intention of actually eating it.

“Shut up and eat,” Iwaizumi told him through a mouthful of food. 

“I know!” Oikawa said brightly, dropping his utensils and spinning around on his seat to face Iwaizumi. “Make out with me!” 

“Eat,” Iwaizumi ordered, muffled and thick, and his free hand rose up to pinch the back of Oikawa's neck, pushing his head back to look at his plate. 

“But I'm not hungry,” Oikawa protested, squirming underneath Iwaizumi’s grasp. 

Iwaizumi waited a moment to swallow, then glowered at Oikawa, eyes narrowing dangerously. “You haven't eaten since dinner time yesterday.”

“No, no, I had, like, a banana or something earlier-”

“Stop lying. You fell asleep before I did last night. I know.”

“I’m not lying!”

“I swear to fuck if you don't eat that I will shove it down your throat or up your ass. You can choose which end it goes in, but it is going in.” 

Oikawa paused a second, trying to gauge if Iwaizumi was serious or not. After seeing his unbending expression, he heaved a sigh and finally picked up some, daintily tipping it past his lips. 

“I hate you,” he proclaimed, and some particles of spit mixed with food landed on Iwaizumi’s chest, who made a face and shoved Oikawa away. 

“Watch where you're spraying that, idiot.” 

Oikawa only spun around to rotate his entire body towards him, grinning as much as he could with his mouth full. He pressed his palms to either side of his bulging cheeks, and Iwaizumi, realising immediately what he was planning, backed away.

“Don't you dare, Tooru. I'm not going to clean all that shit up.” 

Oikawa tried to speak through his stuffed mouth, but it only came out as a few woollen mutterings. Frowning, Iwaizumi leaned forwards without thinking, attempting to make out his words. 

Boy, did he pay the price. 

Oikawa's melodious laughter greeted his ears as Iwaizumi recoiled, sleeve wiping the sorry remains of breakfast off of the skin around his eyes. 

“Gross!” Iwaizumi exclaimed disgustingly, wrinkling up his nose. “What were you thinking?!” 

Oikawa let out another airy chortle, eyes curving up into elegant half-moons, moons with the kindest colour Iwaizumi had ever seen. His hand came up to cover his mouth as he chuckled, the other placed on his stomach. “You look utterly ridiculous.” 

Iwaizumi lunged  forwards and grabbed him around his waist, yanking him onto his lap. “And whose fault is that, asshole?” 

“It's not my fault that your face was such a tempting target!” Oikawa responded, trying to fend Iwaizumi off and wriggle  free. “Let me go, you brute. Don't bring your face anywhere near me,” he demanded, nose scrunching up in repulsion as Iwaizumi leered closer, a small smile forming on his lips. 

“If it's too gross for you, then you shouldn't have done it,” he stated, and grew even nearer. “Come on, didn't you want a kiss earlier?”

“Ew, ew, get away from me!” 

Oikawa’s feet kicked out and hit the table leg, propelling them backwards. Iwaizumi made a frantic grab for the table and missed, Oikawa only letting out a thin screech and clutching onto Iwaizumi as they overbalanced, landing heavily on the floor. 

“Fuck, that hurts,” Iwaizumi groaned as he pulled out the chair from underneath him. 

“Really?” came Oikawa's obnoxiously optimistic voice. “It didn't hurt me at all!”

“That's because you landed on me, dumbass,” Iwaizumi grunted, watching as Oikawa steadied himself on his chest like an entitled cat. 

“Isn’t that what boyfriends are for, Iwa-chan? You could do a better job of cushioning me next time, though,” Oikawa retorted, sitting back on Iwaizumi and rubbing his elbow huffily. “My elbow hurts.”

“A lot more is gonna hurt if you don’t get off of me and eat your fucking breakfast,” Iwaizumi shot back. “You won’t have time if you delay any longer.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes heavily, but he obliged, standing up. He offered Iwaizumi a hand up a second later, but by that time Iwaizumi was already on his feet, straightening up. He blinked at Oikawa’s outstretched hand.

“A little earlier would be great,” he deadpanned, and Oikawa exhaled through his nose in offence, plopping back onto his seat. 

“Not my fault that you’re unfairly athletic,” he complained, finally dropping some more food into his mouth and actually swallowing this time. “It’s inhuman.” 

“And I suppose this supports your alien theory?” Iwaizumi suggested dryly, lifting his eyebrows. 

Oikawa pointed the ends of his utensils at him triumphantly. “My thoughts exactly!”

“Don’t speak while you’re eating,” Iwaizumi told him shortly, almost afraid to take his eyes off of him in case he dumped the food down his pants or something. He wouldn’t put it past him. 

Rounding the table, Iwaizumi flicked down the switch for the kettle and then bent over the sink, cleaning off his face and wherever Oikawa had sprayed food on him. He turned and leaned the side of his hip against the counter with arms crossed, watching Oikawa intently. For those few minutes, Oikawa would glance up every so often, meet his gaze, pull a quick face, then, just as fast, avert his eyes again to a random corner of the room. 

This was the reason behind the first stirrings of unease within Iwaizumi’s chest. 

He almost jumped when the ding sounded beside him that indicated that the kettle was boiled, turning to grab two mugs just as Oikawa was gulping down the last of his breakfast. 

“Coffee?” Iwaizumi asked.

Oikawa shook his head, casting a glance at the clock. “I don’t have time.”

“Alright,” Iwaizumi acknowledged, abandoning the mugs. “I'll walk you down. You're not walking there, are you?” 

“Nah. I'm getting a taxi,” slipped out of Oikawa's mouth, his heart pulsing uncomfortably in his chest. 

He had intended on walking, but, on second thoughts, he'd better get a taxi. Otherwise, Iwaizumi would probably insist on walking with him, and Oikawa couldn't have that. 

“Good.” 

Iwaizumi walked out into the hallway and returned a few minutes later, tossing him his coat, his own slung over his arm. 

“Let's go, then.” 

\-----

Iwaizumi watched Oikawa slip into the taxi, an unconscious crease forming between his eyebrows. When Oikawa twisted around to wave after exchanging a few words with the driver, Iwaizumi returned the gesture, dropping his hand down by his side slowly afterwards. Oikawa's taxi trundled out of sight, and Iwaizumi felt a worried heaviness settle in his chest, but he tried to shake it off. Oikawa would tell him if anything was seriously wrong. He just needed a distraction to take his mind off of his gut’s insistent tugging.

What was he going to do now? Iwaizumi couldn't recall the last time he had free time - well, specifically, free time without Oikawa there. 

 

**hedgehog-chan:** Do you have any plans today?

**Kuroo** : wait wtf is iwaizumi the famously unattainable asking me….a mere mortal...if I want to hang out….??

**hedgehog-chan** : It isn't that big of a deal.

**Kuroo** : did shitface die or something he isn't….. voluntARILY AGREEING TO BE IN MY PRESENCE??? 

iS HE???

this means i won right 

**hedgehog-chan** : No, he's at work. 

**Kuroo** : he works??????

**hedgehog-chan** : Yeah. So are you free or not?

**Kuroo** : i suppose i just might be able to free up some time for u around now

oh btw aka bo nd kenma are coming too none of u have a choice we're getting the gang all back together again

**hedgehog-chan** : No complaints from me. 

**Kuroo** : that takes all the fun out of it but whatever head over now and i will personally take care of the rest of the arrangements because i am just that nice of a person

thank me

**hedgehog-chan** : I'm walking over now. 

**Kuroo** : take a fucking bus that'll take ages

**hedgehog-chan** : I'll run some of the way. I need the exercise, anyway. 

**Kuroo** : look @ ur fuckin thighs exercise is the last thing u need but whatever see ya

in like two hours

because u won't take a bus

**hedgehog-chan** : Bye, Kuroo. 

 

Iwaizumi shoved his phone back into his pocket, and began trekking forwards briskly, mapping out the route in his head as he went. A light fluffiness gathered in his chest, and his normally stern expression softened. It was good to know that his friends were still there, despite Oikawa taking up most of his already scarce free time. Though he supposed that they weren't seeing him that much less than usual - he only had more leisure time recently because of Oikawa's insistence and support - both on a personal and financial level.

Something crossed Iwaizumi’s mind, and he hesitated. 

 

**hedgehog-chan** : I'm going to see how my mom’s doing first, alright? I’ll be a little late. 

**Kuroo** : we’re ready when u are mate dw

**hedgehog-chan** : Thank you. 

 

Iwaizumi continued on his way, secure in the fact that he not only had a supportive boyfriend, but friends as well. In a few more hours, he would be smiling warmly with a steaming coffee in his relaxed hands, watching as Kuroo and Bokuto practically shrieked the place down in despair as Kenma once again decimated them in Smash Bros, and snorting at every idly hilarious comment Akaashi passed onto him. 

\-----

Oikawa, at that time, was doing a lot less hot. 

“For fuck’s sake,” he hissed out viciously, wanting to pound his fists against his knee but only knowing it would make it worse. 

He leaned heavily against the door of a nearby supply room, the notched alcove hopefully buying him a few seconds to react if someone happened to come along. He shouldn't have tried that diving receive. He knew he was in a bad position, he knew his knee would definitely skim off the floor but he hadn't expected this idiot to slam into him and send his knee slamming into the goddamn court. 

At least he'd made an excuse fast enough to leg it out of there before he screamed. He couldn't even recall what it was at this stage. A low groan passed through his whitened lips, biting down hard on his tongue. A droplet of sweat shattered beside his runner, its comrades rolling down Oikawa's temples and gathering precariously on the angle of his chin. 

Oikawa's breaths, thick and heavy and charged with withheld cries, hung in front of his face. One hand rose to cling onto the front of his soaked t-shirt, attempting to steady himself, clear his head. Combing his fringe backwards, away from his forehead, he scrabbled to cope with the pain, swearing feverently under his shortened breath that he would bring painkillers next time. The pain wasn't too bad yesterday, and he had hoped it would stay that way, but apparently fucking not. Oikawa felt his teeth protest under the intense pressure his jaw was exerting on them, but he couldn't ease out the determined force, or he may actually scream aloud with frustration. 

“Okay,” he ordered himself thickly, through gritted teeth. “Get back out there. You're almost finished, just one more practice set. I can do that.” 

Slowly, he relaxed his jaw, inhaling gradually and precisely. After a second or two, his hands dropped back to his sides, and he blinked, expression becoming glossy and false once again. He gave himself a sharp nod for confidence, then stepped out of the doorway. 

His knee sent another sharp pang through him, but now he could cope with it, he thought. Or could he? 

Then the panic hit, and Oikawa hastily staggered back into the alcove, one hand pressed hard over his mouth. Oh no, no, not now. His stomach was jerking violently side to side, and Oikawa squeezed his eyes shut, praying that he could keep the contents of his stomach inside. He hadn't thrown up before a match since high school, and the eerie deja vú of his mouth flowing with foul-tasting saliva nearly overwhelmed him. 

Chest tightening, his hands quivering and stomach threatening to cough up more than bile, Oikawa desperately uprooted his thoughts, trying to switch from the all-too-familiar reality of failure to...to-

Hajime. 

Hajime, Oikawa thought, clearer this time, and Kageyama’s masterful skill was thrown to the side, replaced with easy, comforting taunts, flashes of the most endearingly careless hairstyle Oikawa had ever seen. Sensations of threading his fingers through that dark hair, meeting a sincere grin with his own effortlessly, the misty feeling blanketing his chest lightly whenever he heard Iwaizumi's distinctive chortle. He could make Iwaizumi laugh, and Oikawa latched onto the morning’s memory, of harmless horseplay in the kitchen. 

Oikawa was so thoroughly distracted he didn't notice that his breathing had slowed, or that his stomach was no longer in upheaval, until he heard footsteps. Jolting out of his daydreaming, Oikawa stepped out, sauntering along the hallway as if he was just returning from a stroll to the bathroom. 

Which he actually needed to use, now that he thought of it. 

How long has it been? he wondered. Could he nip out for a quick piss? 

Before he could change his course, however, the footsteps rounded the corner ahead, and so did the tiny body attached to it. 

“There you are! What are you fucking around for? Practice is almost over,” Yaku told him sternly, walking right up to him and narrowing his eyes. “Your knee, right? Or is it-”

“Nothing!” Oikawa cut in quickly. He'd told Yaku about his struggles with anxiety in school, something he regretted now that he no longer felt stable. 

“Yeah, and maybe you just spent all that time doing a massive shit in the bathroom,” Yaku deadpanned. “If it's too much, you can just tell us, alright? Stop being such a drama queen and sneaking off by yourself.” 

Oikawa inhaled shallowly, rubbing up his arm. “I can't. I'll be fine if I’m just...on my own.” 

“No you won't. Stop lying,” Yaku dismissed him, reaching out for his arm. He gave him plenty of time to move away, but Oikawa didn't shift or protest, so he grabbed on and began tugging him back down the hall. “C’mon. Show your face and help clean up a bit, whatever you can manage. Also you've gotta talk to the coach.” 

“About what?” Oikawa asked in confusion. 

“Your knee. He can see that you're injured, you know. It's obvious to those who were here when you were here four years ago. You're not like you were then.” 

“Of course not! Who stays the same for years upon end? Apart from Ushiwaka, I swear he has the smallest range of expressions I've ever seen,” Oikawa complained, futilely trying to change the subject. 

“Would you stop shit-talking our ace for once?!” 

With that, Yaku dragged him out through the doors and onto the court, the lights throwing dazzling spots into his narrowed eyes. 

\----

"Hey, that serve you did was kickass! I barely managed to get it!"

"Haha, thanks, but who the fuck says kickass anymore?”

"-nah, there's no way Nohebi Academy could beat Nekoma. You kiddin' or what?"

"I dunno, my money's on them. I think that the ref will-"

"Mm, out of the two of them? I'd have to chose Hinata. He's definitely more troublesome, at least when on the front line."

The carefree, airy voice of Oikawa rose briefly above the rest of the murmurs.

"I forgot my glasses back at the locker room. I'd better run back! There's no need to wait, although I do deeply appreciate the thought," he added as he turned away, but not before aiming a wink at the collective group. "I'll see you all tomorrow!"

A series of "bye"s from the team and one bleak "try not to trip over your feet and die on the way," from Yaku later, and Oikawa was heading back to the massive, domed gym quickly.

A few minutes later, and he almost stopped, but was too afraid to give in to the flash of pain that darted up his leg with every step, too afraid to bend over in case someone from the team saw him.

He didn't allow himself to stop or even slow until he stepped into the locker rooms, bypassing the gym entrance entirely, hidden from all sight at last. There, he let go. He gasped out loud, slumping onto the floor, back bent and pressed against the lockers, as his hand clawed at his knee, as if he could physically cease the pain. His lungs burned, his knee joint flaring agony up and down his entire leg as Oikawa allowed his ceramic mask to slide out of place, sobs escaping his throat. It hurt so fucking much. He wasn't ready for this. He knew he wasn't ready for this.

But he had to be. Iwaizumi needed him.

Yet he couldn't even make it back to his home, not even a third of the way there, after practice. If he had continued on like normal, before halfway it would've been too unbearable to gloss over any longer. 

Maybe he should’ve taken those painkillers after all. However, his pride had won out over his pain on that one. 

"Oikawa."

Anger flaring up inside Oikawa, he turned his head, but he really didn't need to. He knew that voice.

"Ushiwaka-chan. How nice," Oikawa said dryly, fingers tense and rigid around his damaged knee. "What brings you back here? Wait, I can guess-" Oikawa tilted his head sideways , leaving out a thoughtful hum. "-Oh! Funnily enough, I actually don't care!"

"I was practicing serves," Ushijima replied evenly, moving to sit down on the bench opposite him. "I didn’t leave.”

"Hmph. I didn't ask," Oikawa huffed out, observing how Ushijima's brown hair flopped ever so slightly into his eyes when he plopped down on the metal bench. It pissed him off. He had to be good-looking as well as righteous and without a mean bone in his body, didn't he?

"Are you taking steroids again?" Ushijima inquired straight out.

"Of course not! I learnt my lesson with those," Oikawa defended, glowering at him, hating the honest concern in his gaze. "I can't believe you'd think that I'd go back to those. I'm not fucking dense.” 

"But you hurt your knee in the meantime," Ushijima stated bluntly. 

"My knee is none of your business."

"If you went to Shir-"

"Oh my god, Ushiwaka, shut up about that. I will never, not in a million lifetimes, attend your fancy ass academy."

Oikawa thought he saw something on Ushijima's lips, then frowned, disregarding it as fantasy. Then he squinted, and saw that he wasn't imagining it. Ushijima really was smiling.

"That's disgusting," Oikawa declared, scrunching up his nose. "What is that on your face? Smiling does not suit you."

Ushijima once again bypassed Oikawa's insult and offered his next thought respectfully.

"You could've returned years ago.”

"I had stuff to work out, okay? And it wasn't as if I could've kept my place if I hadn't doped anyways. Tobio-chan would've overtaken me in the end no matter what I did, so it doesn't matter."

"He has your spot now," Ushijima pointed out, and Oikawa's features convulsed in bitterness. "So why are you back?"

"Because I wanted to," Oikawa spat out.

Ushijima angled his head to the side quizzically but said nothing, although his confusion was clear. That wasn't a valid reason. With a deep sigh, Oikawa glanced away, and told him, "I need the money. A lot of it. To help out someone."

"This 'someone' is that dark-haired guy, correct? Iwaizumi?"

"Yeah."

"Is he not your boyfriend?"

"He is, but if the media got wind of it, it would be hell for him. I don't want to put him through that - wait, how did you know? Did Yaku tell you?" Oikawa demanded, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

"Have you forgotten about the time when Yaku, Kageyama and I visited you and saw you two almost kissing?"

"Oh. Oh, okay. I guess that does explain it." Oikawa stopped over himself, clutched his knees to his chest - one giving a sharp, dangerous throb - and buried his face in his knees. "Have you said all you wanted to say? May I despair in peace now?"

"Oh. Wait, there was one more thing," Ushijima said, bending over to root through his bag.

Oikawa rolled his eyes. "Oh, joy."

"I know you're being sarcastic, but I think this will be genuinely useful to you," Ushijima told him seriously, methodically placing objects aside until he found what he was searching for.

"Here."

Ushijima outstretched his hand, and there it was, a circular heat pack.

"Wow. I didn't think of using one of those before," Oikawa deadpanned, gazing at it through slitted eyes.

"Use it after every training. It will help," Ushijima informed him, then gestured to Oikawa's knee. "It's electronic, and all you have to do is charge it at home. You can even wear it under your knee supporter, if you wish."

"I'm fine without your fancy equipment," Oikawa stated sulkily, hunching over even further. "I can manage on painkillers and normal heat packs, I’m sure. And the occasional bottle of vodka.”

"Oikawa, you should stop training. You can’t hide the pain forever."

"I can try," Oikawa huffed out, but his gaze dropped to Ushijima's knees. "So are you going to lecture me now? Did the coach set you up to this?”

"I wanted to find out your reasons for coming back firstly."

"Oh well, are you satisfied now?” Oikawa drawled. “Want to leave through the perfectly good doorway that's just waiting to be used?"

"I see that you are doing this for Iwaizumi, and I respect that. Yet you aren't physically able to keep up this pace you're going at in practice. You will undoubtedly destroy your knee completely before you even set in an official match."

Oikawa exhaled heavily, wanting to argue but knowing he was right, just like he was right four years ago. Fucking ass. "What's your advice then, o divine and holy prick?"

Ushijima dumped the heat pack onto Oikawa's feet. "Take care of yourself."

"There it is, the Ushiwaka-style lecture," Oikawa sighed, but he scooped up the heat pack. "Don't tell Iwa-chan about this, okay? He'll be angry."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't tell him about going back. I know he'll be dead set against it, so I've been lying to him from the start. He thinks I'm at a modelling firm." Oikawa's eyelids fell, staring glumly at Ushijima's left trainer. "I know he'll find out eventually, but by then, I should have worked up enough money to help him out."

Ushijima nodded. "I understand. But I intend to meet Iwaizumi for myself."

Oikawa's gaze snapped up abruptly, his eyebrows crinkling together. "What? Why?!"

"To see if he is worth wrecking your body for. My first impressions were good, but I must be certain."

"And who are you to judge that?" Oikawa demanded sharply. "I say he's more than worthy, so fuck off already."

"Your judgement has been known to be irrational in the past,” Ushijima stated, and he was right, and both of them knew it.

"It doesn't matter," Oikawa growled out. "I don't care if you think he's not good enough. In fact, I'm not good enough for him, so I'm going to support him in any way I can, okay? Don't try and stop me."

Oikawa clambered unsteadily to his feet with a flinch, the heat pack still clasped in one hand, and glared down at Ushijima. "Iwa-chan deserves my help, and if you can't see that, I don't care."

Ushijima gazed up at him for a moment, Oikawa's angry breaths the only sound in the vast, empty space.

"I admit that I have never seen you this defensive of anyone before," he commented finally.

"I don't want you passing your own judgement on what and who's good for me and who's not. I can decide for myself." Oikawa's fists curled up tightly. "I don't want a repeat of the 'you should've gone to Shiratorizawa,' crap."

"I understand. But I still want to meet Iwaizumi."

"I just told you-"

"Not to judge him. Out of curiosity."

"Curiosity? What do you have to be curious about?"

"I simply want to see the man who has your loyalty."

Oikawa huffed, rolling his eyes. "Jealous, are we?"

Ushijima frowned, shaking his head. "Confused, perhaps, but not jealous."

"Uh, confused? Why?"

"You still don't trust me, and yet you trust him, despite knowing him for a much shorter time."

"Well, with Iwa-chan..." Oikawa began, trying to find the words. "It's different. He let me in on his life, and I told him about my failures, and he still stuck with me. And how he can sweep away all my anxieties and stupid overthinking with a single touch - I lov-"

Oikawa halted abruptly, head pounding.

"I love how he does that," he corrected himself carefully, choosing every word so he didn't blurt out something rash.

That was a close one.

Or so he thought.

Ushijima bobbed his head forward after a moment of solemn thought. "I see. It makes sense that you love him, otherwise you wouldn't care enough to be here."

Oikawa's eyes snapped open, shaking his head vigorously as he backed into the lockers, his heart driving his blood around his body at a dangerous pace. "I -  Ushiwaka, I don't - I can't admit that!" He exclaimed finally, his hands skittishly, frantically combing out the side of his hair.

Ushijima blinked, mystified. "Why does saying it aloud make you uncomfortable?"

"Because! I don’t fall in -I don’t know - oh, just shut up!" Oikawa stumbled over his words, throat dry as he swallowed. "I didn't - I never planned to ...."

Words failed him, and he slumped back against the cold metal of the lockers, hiding his flaming face in his hands.

"I never planned to have such strong feelings towards him," he finished quietly. "I'm terrified that he'll pick up on them and realise just how-" Oikawa broke off abruptly, cold fingers squeezing his windpipe and closing off all his unsaid fears.

Ushijima considered his words for a second or so, one finger tapping on his knee. "If you're going to these lengths to help him, then you do deserve him. Not everyone would risk themselves in such a way for their lover."

"He's not my lover," Oikawa sighed out. "He's only my boyfriend, and a new one at that."

"Have you tried telling him that you love him?"

Oikawa gave him a dead stare. "Do I look like the straightforward type to you, Ushiwaka-chan?"

"You could be, if you desired to be."

"Are you done with me yet?" Oikawa asked him flatly, staring at him through splayed fingers.

"I never thought you'd fall in love," Ushijima commented, so casually, as if he was reciting the script for the weather report. "You always were so distant from everyone."

"You don't have to keep saying it," Oikawa muttered. "I love Iwa-chan, okay? It isn't a big deal."

"I believe it is," Ushijima countered. "Does he know?"

"Obviously not, if I'm so embarrassed now! We've only been dating a week or so, it'd be moving too fast for him," Oikawa said glumly.

"But you already possessed a profound connection before you began dating, no?"

"Maybe," Oikawa sulkily admitted, then his lips stuck out stubbornly. "Why am I discussing this with you, anyways? Go away. I don't want to talk to you anymore."

"I will." Ushijima stood up, inclining his head politely. "That was very informative. Thank you, Oikawa."

"Fuck off," Oikawa grouched back. "You didn't help me figure out the depth of my feelings towards Iwa-chan at all."

Ushijima's head tilted sideways, just a tad. "Is that more sarcasm?"

"Shut up and go away."

Ushijima did it again, that weird line which curved the corners of his mouth upwards, despite Oikawa's glowering.

"Will you be able to get home?" he inquired.

"I'll bug Mattsun for a lift, so yeah."

"Then I will see you tomorrow."

Ushijima started moving towards the door, and Oikawa heaved out a sigh, calling out to him reluctantly.

"Ushiwaka-chan?"

"Yes?"

Oikawa looked away, scowling viciously as he spoke. "Thanks for the heat pack."

Under Ushijima’s blank stare, Oikawa turned his back. 

“Actually, I changed my mind. Go away. I hate you.”

Ushijima nodded and left without another word. Oikawa blew out a breath, raking a quivering hand back through his hair. 

He did love Iwaizumi. 

Fuck, he wanted a drink. 

\----

As he waited for Matsukawa to come to his aid, Oikawa realised he had a need in his nether regions, and not a good one. He heaved himself to his feet and grimaced, avoiding putting any weight on his right knee as he slowly made his way to the bathroom. It was a distraction at least, a diversion from his recurring memories of yesterday and today hanging like razors in his mind. 

He relieved himself quickly, the pressure being replaced with a sense of contentment which lasted approximately as long as a fly’s wings did in a toddler’s sweaty hands. He couldn't fucking stop thinking about the fact that he loved someone, actually loved someone without him trying to convince himself that he did, that he did care for them. He loved Iwaizumi, and it was the most natural idea in the world, the most right one. 

A shiver crept up Oikawa's spine, and he stopped by the mirror, swallowing as a hand rose to ghost his fringe to the side, sewing it more into his main mass of hair. It unnerved him a little still, seeing how damn normal he appeared. He always looked nearly the same every time he felt like this - the only difference was his expression. Instead of a regal, confident smirk always about to jump onto his lips, his mouth was set into a nervous line that wasn't even straight. His eyes dim and downtrodden, Oikawa flinched, hating his reflection. He either saw someone broken or about to break - for all the time he spent in front of mirrors, he despised them. 

He took a deep breath and faced himself. 

If he was going to admit something so significant to himself, he might as well say it out loud. 

"I love him."    
Oikawa's reflection stared back at him, unimpressed at his cracking, dry voice. Groaning, Oikawa massaged his tired eyes and prepared to try again, this time throwing in an 'Iwa-chan.' Maybe that would help.    
"Iwa-chan, I love y-agh, this isn't working," Oikawa sighed out, hands resting into his styled mass of hair, elbows angled towards the ceiling in exasperation. Licking his lips, he attempted it again. One last time.

"I love you, Hajime."    
Oikawa paused, blinking quickly in pleasant surprise. His reflection showed a handsome man, lips parted in the shock of discovering how natural and easy and warm a certain string of words felt on his lips. His fingers unclenched from the strands of his hair, lowering to his sides as he repeated the right statement, watching with fascination how his eyes sparkled as he said it.    
"I love you. I love Iwaizumi Hajime, the massive dork."    
The man in the mirror broke out in a grin, happy. Funny, really, how such few words could cause Oikawa's chest to swell with such elation.   
It didn't matter, though. It was still much too early to confess. Oikawa had fallen, but that didn't mean Iwaizumi had. He couldn't take it for granted that Iwaizumi's feelings were as strong as his.    
Because that was the problem. Oikawa fell fast and hard, tumbling down, down, down, until he didn't know which way was up and which was the right way to go. It was a bit like drowning. Peaceful, tranquil, even, after all the initial panicking and thrashing, writhing, choking out cries for help. Sadly, it was silent drowning. Oikawa never realised his head was submerged until it was too late, for both of them. He made it a point to end all relationships before this happened, after a few failures. He simply was too much, loading all of his feelings onto a mere human much too quickly. Nobody could handle the expectation, the pressure of staying with someone who stuck too steadfastly. Better to be distant and disconnected. At least that way, he never hurt them.    
It hadn't worked with Hajime. It wasn't as if Oikawa had even tried to push him away, after all. He trusted him too much to believe that would've worked. It would've only been unnecessary pressure and angst, for both of them. There was enough underlying unease with Oikawa's little...problem, but Oikawa couldn't completely shove away the fear that he'd still up and leave one day. That maybe handling Oikawa's drunken state on top of coping with his mother would be too much for him to deal with. 

And if it came down to choosing between his mother and Oikawa, Oikawa already knew which one he'd pick. Letting out a deep breath, Oikawa stepped away from the mirror, fickle good mood vanishing as easily as a plastic bag caught in a gale. 

He loved Hajime with all his heart, but he didn't know if that was enough.

\----

He made it home sober, the sole reason being that he couldn't have possibly gotten his hands on a bottle before that. Mattsun’s presence wouldn't have changed anything. He had to forget about the disastrous wreck of a day. 

And when he got home, Iwaizumi wasn't there. The mugs he'd taken out earlier still lay by the sink, untouched. Oikawa stared down at them a moment before taking a hand back through his hair, pushing his fringe back from his still-damp forehead. 

“Okay,” he muttered aloud, trying to calm the jittery twitching his hand was doing against his thigh. “I promised myself I wouldn't get drunk. I'm not going to get drunk.”

The silence crushed down on his chest, and his fingers clenched tightly, gaze slipping sideways and downwards to a certain tarnished handle-

“Stop it!” Oikawa almost cried out, and the sheer helplessness of his own voice shocked him. 

It didn't do anything to help his resolve. Spinning around, Oikawa eyes the clock desperately. Half five. Where was Iwaizumi? Maybe if he was here, Oikawa could distract himself, take his mind away from his pulsing, parched throat and the fevered desire which seemed to run through his blood with every breath. 

He whipped out his phone. 

 

**the perfect one:** where are you? 

❤️ **iwa-chan** ❤️ **:** Are you home now? Sorry, I was at Kuroo’s and kind of lost track of time. I'm on my way back now. 

**the perfect one:** oh, okay. and yeah. i’m at home. 

❤️ **iwa-chan** ❤️ **:** How'd it go today? 

**the perfect one:** come home first i’ll tell you about it then

❤️ **iwa-chan** ❤️ **:** Are you alright? You're off. 

 

Oikawa's eyes creased up weakly. Was he that obvious? 

 

**the perfect one:** just 

please come home soon

❤️ **iwa-chan** ❤️ **:** I'll run. 

 

Oikawa swallowed hard, his phone clattering onto the table from his limp fingers as he bent forwards, wrapping his arms around his head protectively, and waited. 

\----- 

He was forced up a few minutes later by the increasing awareness of his knee. Almost limping to the bathroom, he grabbed a plastic bottle and shook some pills out into his palm, not even bothering to check how much he should be taking. He threw his head back and gulped them down dry, leaving a taste in his mouth that was no nastier than the one beforehand. 

\-----

Iwaizumi couldn't even notice how harshly his breath raked up the inside of his throat anymore. It was numb, and he was slowly realising, as he stumbled up the final few steps, that he'd turned the remaining hour and a half walk home into an exactly twenty-six minute run. 

He couldn't stop checking his phone the whole way. 

With feeling gradually coming back into his respiratory system, Iwaizumi’s sweaty hands fumbled with the key, and he cursed aloud, managing to push it in the second time successfully. Door swinging open, Iwaizumi’s heavy pants immediately flooded the entire hallway. 

“Tooru?” 

Any weak, thread-thin hope that Oikawa would call back vanished within the next second. However, Iwaizumi didn't have far to go to find him. 

He was bent over the kitchen table - no, crumpled against the edge, as near as he could possibly get to the coarse wooden surface, hands almost invisible in the mass of disarrayed, chaotic chestnut hair. His whole posture shrieked of despair, muscles and flesh as cold and rigid as his bones themselves. 

Iwaizumi stepped forwards with a swallow that sounded much louder than he'd thought it would in the silent room. He sat down beside Oikawa, unable to see his face and wondering if he had stumbled across the third stage of his drunkenness. 

“Tooru,” he said, worried to touch him, worried to speak to him, but more worried about doing nothing. “What's wrong? Did Kageyama play again?”

Oikawa released a noise that could’ve been a sob or a laugh, sticking in his throat and bitter on his lips. He wanted Iwaizumi to be here, but he didn't - showing his insecurities when drunk was one thing, revealing them when sober was quite another. 

“Can I touch you?” Iwaizumi asked quietly. 

Oikawa's head dipped downwards in a sort of solemn acceptance, and Iwaizumi slipped down off of his seat to draw an arm around his shoulders. He was shocked at just how stoney they felt against his arm, knots of lean muscles all bunched up and tensed. 

“Talk to me,” Iwaizumi requested gently. “What's up?” 

Oikawa only hunched up more, shaking his head morosely. “I can't.” 

His voice was bleak, desolate and empty somehow, as if he'd drained his entire spirit out into bottles and smashed them all up in a fit of hysteria. Iwaizumi withdrew his arm, instead bending down to his level and trying to pry his folded arm away from the side of his head, so he could at least see him. He knew he'd be better able to read him if he could search his expression. 

To his surprise, Oikawa didn't resist, and his arm fell flat to the table surface, exposing the side of his face. He instantly rotated it away, hiding his emotions from the only one he would allow to see him like this. 

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi spoke gently, his hand covering Oikawa's frigid one. “At least let me see your face.” 

At this point, Oikawa realised that he'd made a terrible mistake. This was so much simpler when drunk. He couldn't do this when he was thinking clearly, lucid. How could he ever have thought for an instant that vulnerability would be easy? He tried to pull his hand out of Iwaizumi’s, body retracting back from the table, but Iwaizumi held on. 

“Is it to do with the thing that you can't tell me about?” Iwaizumi guessed carefully. 

Oikawa nodded. 

Iwaizumi opened up his arms, and Oikawa wrapped himself up in them, numb tears finally revealing themselves and creeping down his cheeks into Iwaizumi’s warm shirt. 

They stayed like that for a few minutes. 

“Listen,” Iwaizumi breathed out steadily against the top of Oikawa's head. “We need food, so I was gonna go grocery shopping before you came back, but, well... Do you want to come with me?” 

Oikawa's arms tightened around Iwaizumi’s waist. The thought of going out terrified him, but what terrified him more was the notion of being in the apartment alone like this. He nodded slowly, and Iwaizumi gently swept back his bangs, tidying away the strands behind his ears. 

“Are you sure? We can just live on takeout for a few days, too.” 

Oikawa sniffled, raising his head and shaking it verently. “No. It'll be a distraction, anyways. I'll be fine.” 

“Alright,” Iwaizumi submitted softly, ducking his face to kiss his forehead. His hands cradled Oikawa's shoulders tenderly as he shifted away. “Go get ready, then.”

Oikawa managed a weak smile. “I probably look like an absolute mess right now, don't I?” 

“You do. But a nice mess.” 

Oikawa let out some hoarse laughter, straightening up with Iwaizumi’s hands on his, helping him up. “Don't be silly. There's no such thing as a nice mess.” 

“Then you're living proof of the opposite.” 

Oikawa rolled his reddened eyes. “Since when did you become a sweet-talker?” 

“Since you needed one. Now go.” 

Iwaizumi pushed him gently towards the bedroom, and Oikawa caught onto his hand. Iwaizumi didn't protest when Oikawa led him all the way down the hallway and into the bedroom, perhaps sensing that he required company more than distractions. He waited there patiently as Oikawa changed into more casual clothes, a simple t-shirt and jeans that embraced his calves perfectly. Iwaizumi also waited by the bathroom door as Oikawa rubbed cold water against his skin, then touched up his face with some skilfully placed concealer. He never met his own gaze in the mirror until he was finished. 

“There we go.” Oikawa tried for a bright smile and light voice, but it still was far from his normal demeanour. 

He turned to Iwaizumi, chewing on his lower lip hesitantly. “Do I look okay?” 

Iwaizumi’s eyes scanned up and down his body, then gave a curt nod and a short, certain answer. “As always.” 

Oikawa managed a stiff, but grateful, smile. “You flatterer. I'm calling bulllshit, though I honestly couldn't care less at this point.” 

Iwaizumi lifted up an eyebrow. “You not caring about your appearance? Never thought I'd see the day.” 

“I'm tired,” Oikawa stated dimly, then tugged at Iwaizumi’s shirt. “Are we going then or not?” 

“Yeah, you're ready now, right? You're not going to change your mind about your outfit or find something to fix at the last second, are you?”

“No,” Oikawa responded flatly and brushed past Iwaizumi, who began to think he should ease off on his attempts to get Oikawa to engage with the normally mutual teasing. It wasn't working, and it just made Iwaizumi feel mean when Oikawa didn't retort back. 

He followed him down the hallway, praying that the evening improved. 

\-----

“Oh, get this too!” 

Oikawa tossed yet another sweet amenity into the basket, and Iwaizumi tilted his head to the side, eying his newest purchase warily. 

“Do we really need that?” 

“Yes!” Oikawa shot back over his shoulder and made his way down the aisle of the store cheerfully. 

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes to nobody in particular and began striding quickly after him, intent on hauling him out of the snack section. Without any warning, a kid about knee-height sprinted - unsteadily, but fast - across his path, and Iwaizumi jolted to a sudden stop, barely avoiding kneeing the kid in the head. 

“Christ,” he muttered underneath his breath. 

A woman rushed after the child with a heavy sigh, catching his arm as she turned to apologise.

“Sorry about that. He gets excited when he sees anything colourful.” 

Her green eyes shone sincerely, if with a tad bit of annoyance, and Iwaizumi nodded.

“I know someone just like that. It's no problem.” 

She straightened with a faint frown, holding onto her child’s hand as she brushed her hair over her shoulder with her free hand. “Didn't you fix my car? About two months ago?”

Iwaizumi shrugged. “Probably. I work at Kiyoko’s garage.” 

A flash of recognition sparked through her gaze, and she smiled amiably, offering her hand. “Nice to meet you again, mechanic man. I should congratulate you on your work - it runs like a dream now, and I haven't even heard a single squeak from the engine after you’d been at it.” 

“I should hope so. That's my job, after all,” Iwaizumi responded, shaking her hand. 

She laughed, and it was a nice laugh, just light enough to keep an edge of femininity but not tittering or forced. 

“Well, I'll definitely come back to you if I have problems in the future. Who should I ask for at the desk, then?” 

“Iwaizumi Hajime.” 

“And I'm Hino Airi.”

Iwaizumi returned her welcoming smile, and gestured down at the kid. “Nice to meet you. And you are?”

“Yuki,” they said shyly, one finger hanging out the edge of their mouth as they gazed up at Iwaizumi, who crouched down to their level. 

“Yuki, huh? Beautiful name. Were you named after anyone?” 

“Granny,” they mumbled. 

Iwaizumi glanced up at her, and she nodded. “I wanted to honour my mother somehow, and this was the best way I could think of.”

Iwaizumi’s throat suddenly felt very thick, and his next breath was like compressing a weight onto his chest. 

“I un-”

“Iwa-chan!”

Oikawa abruptly skidded back down the aisle, numerous packets of shit grouped in his arms, a wide smile fading every step closer he got. He reached then just as Iwaizumi straightened up completely. 

“Who's this?” He asked, eying the woman with a certain distaste he usually reserved for vegetables. 

“Oikawa, this is Hino Airi. Hino-san, Oikawa.” 

“Nice to meet you.”

She offered her slim hand, and Oikawa decided to chuck all the stuff in his arms into the basket before taking it. 

“Lovely to meet you too,” he answered smoothly. “Quite unusual for such a gorgeous woman your age to have a child, don't you think?” 

Iwaizumi jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow, but neither of the other parties present flinched. A stiff smile angled rigidly on her lips, she replied, “I suppose having a family was important to me. It's different for everyone, of course, but having a child was a priority for me. I'm blessed that they're so healthy, really.” 

Oikawa's expression soured at her unflustered answer, and, catching it, she offered an explanation. 

“Everyone thinks the same thing when they meet me,” she told them, shrugging lightly as if it didn't bother her. “I'm well used to people thinking that I threw away my life.” 

“Oh, I didn't say anything of the sort,” Oikawa said airily, placing a hand on his hip. 

Knowing that if Oikawa stayed any longer it would only get worse, Iwaizumi attempted an excuse to leave. “Look, it was nice running into you, but we'd better get going. Don't want to be walking back in the dark.” 

Oikawa simply blinked impassively as they traded farewells and began moving in opposite directions. 

Iwaizumi let a few metres grow between them before he spoke. “Are you really going to be like that every time I run into someone I know?”

“Like what?” 

Oikawa kept his gaze fixed ahead. 

“Don't try to bullshit me.”

“Then no.” 

“Oikawa.”

“I know when a woman is interested and when she's not. She thinks you're fair game, you know. As dense as you are, any longer and even you would've noticed her flirting.” 

Iwaizumi dragged a hand back through his hair. “It doesn't matter. You know I wouldn't flirt back.” 

“I know, but-” Oikawa chewed his lip. “You're a decent person. Your personality will only attract them more.” 

“And so what?” Iwaizumi’s tone was sharper than normal, his nerves fraying. “You fucking know I won't bother with them.” 

“You're making it sound like I don't trust you,” Oikawa snapped back. “I do! I just don't want anyone hitting on you.”

Iwaizumi heaved a sigh. “We were having a normal conversation. Do you really think women won't approach you too?” 

“That's different,” Oikawa said, a weary load to his voice that hadn't been there earlier. “Nobody's going to bother with me once I open my mouth. I can be horrible if I want to. You, on the other hand… anyone would find you so easy to be with. Kindaichi saw that. She saw that, too, and maybe you should be with someone who's just as easy to care for.” 

_ Someone not like me. _

In Iwaizumi’s temporary silence, Oikawa's fingers clasped around the cool metal handle of a drinks fridge, but in the next second Iwaizumi’s palm was flat on the door, shutting it again. He faced Oikawa seriously, stepping into his personal space. Oikawa's mouth downturned stubbornly, avoiding his eyes until Iwaizumi's fingers closed around his chin and guided his gaze to his. 

“Repeat this : I am Oikawa Tooru.” 

Oikawa's eyes narrowed, but Iwaizumi didn't waver, and eventually he sighed deeply, batting away Iwaizumi's hand. 

“I am Oikawa Tooru, and I think this is stupid.”

“Good. Now : I’m dating Iwaizumi Hajime.”

“I'm dating the giant idiot Iwaizumi Hajime.”

He couldn't stop a little smile passing onto his lips as he spoke. 

“I pour my heart into everything I do,” Iwaizumi said softly. “I'm one of the warmest people he's ever met, and one of the most constant people in his life. I make time for him, even when I'm busy, and I have done so much for him it's unbelievable. He appreciates this, and he appreciates me. Yes, I can be irritating at times, but it's only when I feel bad about myself. I have no reason to doubt myself or think I'm unworthy. I'm smart, playful and so enthusiastic Iwaizumi barely knows what to do when I'm not there.”

Oikawa blinked, eyes wide. “I don't...I don't think I can remember all of that.” 

Iwaizumi grasped his hands in his and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles, his tone just as soothing.  “You better, asshole.” 

Oikawa was left flushing a dusty pink as Iwaizumi nonchalantly strode past him and placed a carton of milk into their basket. 

“Do we need butter?” Iwaizumi asked him, glancing back over his shoulder. 

Oikawa inhaled deeply, hands tracing over his heated cheeks. He felt like it was entirely possible for him to implode into crimson dust, or maybe melt into a sappy Iwaizumi-adoring puddle, or maybe grow so tall he broke through the roof of the building. His heart felt much too big for his chest. 

“I guess that's a no,” Iwaizumi presumed, moving along to gaze skeptically at the yoghurts on offer. “How about some apricot yoghurt?” 

“Oh my god, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa burst out, spinning around and gesturing wildly with his hands. “You can't just ask me about apricot yoghurt after doing something like that!”

“We're in a grocery store. What else am I gonna ask you about?” Iwaizumi questioned innocently, keeping a dead straight face. 

Oikawa stared at him a moment, face going red, until Iwaizumi couldn't hold it anymore and a smile cracked free like the birth of a precious penguin. 

“Alright, alright,” he sighed out, rubbing the back of his neck. “What do you want me to say?” 

Oikawa's thought process stalled, inwardly realising that he wasn't sure what he wanted Iwaizumi to say. He'd said all that he needed to, more than enough. Squaring his shoulders, Oikawa sauntered forwards confidently, then reached past Iwaizumi to swipe a block of butter off the shelf and plop it into the basket. 

“Of course we need butter. We were looking for it just this morning, are you really that forgetful?” 

Oikawa glanced over at Iwaizumi, who was just a second too slow replacing his amused smile with a frown. 

“You're way more forgetful than me,” Iwaizumi countered as he grabbed some yoghurt before following Oikawa down the aisle, and just like that, everything was back to normal. 

\---

Oikawa made sure to meet her eyes as he slid his palm into Iwaizumi’s far back pocket, natural intimacy accompanying the gesture. Iwaizumi, in the process of handing money over to the cashier, shrugged Oikawa away a second later, but it was little more than a gentle nudge. It was enough, though. She'd realised what Oikawa displayed obviously, and her stiffly painted smile gave Oikawa much more than enough satisfaction to fulfill his pettiness. 

As they walked out the door - Oikawa’s arm hugging Iwaizumi’s shoulders, of course - he turned around slightly and wiggled his fingers in a friendly farewell. 

He blew her a kiss, too, just to add a bit of flair. 

\-----

“So, are you feeling better now?” Iwaizumi asked later, currently slouched on the couch with one of Oikawa's untameable legs slung around his neck and another tracking across his lap. 

“Mm,” Oikawa responded through a mouthful of popcorn, the light from the laptop flickering over his face like a sheen of white lightning. 

“I hope all that shit you did when we were leaving the store was worth it.” 

“What shit?”

“I'm not stupid.”

“Well, yes, in fact, it was,” Oikawa stated, little chewed-up particles of corn escaping through his lips as he talked. 

Iwaizumi thought about how unfairly beautiful he still looked with bits of popcorn scattered around his mouth and chin. 

“I thought I made it clear that I want to be with you,” Iwaizumi spoke out.

Oikawa sighed, his chest deflating dismally. “It's...not entirely that. You couldn't be any better to me. Apart from fixing your socks. They stink more than ever, and I swear, whatever I try to spray on them just vanishes within the smell.” 

“I can't help that,” Iwaizumi said, looking down at Oikawa’s leg in his lap and curling up his nose. “It isn't like yours smell daisy-fresh either.” 

Oikawa, a piece of popcorn held between two fingers, pointed accusingly at him. “At least mine can't be used as a chemical weapon. Well, they can, but they wouldn't be very effective. Yours, on the other hand, are deadly. Death-inducing. And don't even try to argue with me on that, otherwise I'm making you smell them and see if you don't pass out.” 

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi abandoned any last intention of paying attention to the movie and turned fully to face Oikawa, splayed along the length of the couch. 

“Listen to me. I don't want you to feel insecure with me-”

“Too late,” Oikawa told him bouncily, munching away on another handful. “I'm already insecure. Before you even met me.” 

“Why?”

“Isn't it obvious?” Oikawa asked merrily. “You saw today. You can't even talk to someone without me getting jealous - that's just…” he swallowed, squeezing his eyes closed briefly to try and gather himself. “Pathetic.” 

He accompanied this with a large grin, and Iwaizumi frowned. “How can you say something like that and be so cheerful?”

Oikawa chuckled, empty and dry. “Because, my dear Hajime, if I don't laugh, I know I'll start crying. And if I start crying, I know that I won't be able to stop.” 

Oikawa then rotated his focus back to the film, but the images were incomprehensible. He kind of felt like crying. 

Then he sensed Iwaizumi shift, taking his leg down from around his neck and instead stretching out alongside Oikawa, between his back and the couch. His arms curled around Oikawa's waist warmly, pressing himself up against his chest. His angular chin settled on Oikawa's shoulder blade, nose against his upper shoulder, only his eyes visible. 

“I don't know how to make it better,” he murmured, and Oikawa heard his voice crack. “I don't know how to make you feel better.”

Oikawa felt himself begin to cry. 

His whole body trembled violently as his chest tore itself apart, and the sobbing wouldn't stop, and Iwaizumi wouldn't stop breathing soft words into his skin. He felt the dampness on his shoulder, and then Hajime wouldn't stop crying either. 

\------

They spent the night on the sofa, talking with soft breaths and breathing with their hearts on their lips. Oikawa's fingers were tangled up in Iwaizumi’s, and at the same time, Iwaizumi could feel the same nervous, damp fingers ensnaring themselves in his veins. Time did not affect them, and Sleep kept her distance too, simply observing them from outside the window, not daring come between them. 

Fear waited right beside her at the window, except for she crawled in once the am hours hit, and Oikawa's breath kept accelerating no matter what he tried to do. 

What Iwaizumi remembered from the night was very little, but he knew that the sad intimacy they created never really went away, even in the bright daylight of morning. However, he did know that their talking - of nonsense, of themselves, of interests and pasts - made them gravitate even closer together, despite only sharing one or two shallow kisses the entire night. 

Oikawa recalled starting off the night feeling like he could totter over the edge into a breakdown at any moment, then Iwaizumi’s words easing his quaking nerves, then an explosion of sharp panic, then blissful ease again. 

Neither of them could remember specifics, only feelings, the same feelings they woke up to in the morning, still folded into each others’ bodies. 

\-------------------

“Will you be alright today?”

Iwaizumi’s question came during the swift elevator trip downstairs, Oikawa's quick nod following his query. 

“I think so, Hajime. Last night, or this morning, whatever, helped. At least, I think so.” 

Oikawa frowned down at his hands, turning them over, and then clenched them into fists with a small smile. 

“Yeah, I'm feeling good today,” Oikawa declared confidently, and there was a sparkle in his gaze Iwaizumi hadn't seen for a while. 

Not bothering to hide his thankful smile, Iwaizumi bumped his shoulder into Oikawa's. “Don't get too cocky. I'm not going to stay up with you every night like that just so you can feel good in the morning.” 

The back of his hand, gently and deliberately brushing against Oikawa's, told him differently. 

Oikawa grinned widely at him, and he outstretched his arms, almost touching the ceiling of the metal box. “I'm going to own today,” he announced proudly, and Iwaizumi blinked as he struck a pose, one fist cocked on his hip and the other reaching upwards. 

“What are you doing?”

“Power posing!”

“Yeah, what are you doing?” 

Oikawa dropped the pose and turned to face Iwaizumi with a slight crease across his nose, miffed. “I shouldn't have expected you to know what power posing is in the first place.”

“I know what it is,” Iwaizumi deadpanned. “I also know that it's stupid.”

“You're an absolute delight to be around, you know that?” Oikawa told him huffily. “So charming, non-judgemental-”

“Says you.”

“Excuse you! I am tolerant and accepting of the vast majority of people,” Oikawa informed him seriously, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Sure you are. It isn't like you insulted some poor woman’s outfit yesterday.” 

The elevator doors slid open, and Iwaizumi strode out, Oikawa pattering along after him, arguing back fluidly. 

“It's okay to have a knitted cardigan, or scarf, or maybe a skirt, but all three?! Iwa-chan, you must be insane to think that's okay. That's the biggest crime since denim on denim. Horrific.” 

Oikawa's taxi was already outside, and Iwaizumi spun back around to face him, briefly swinging forwards up onto the balls of his feet to press their lips together. 

“Have a day as shitty as your personality.” 

“I know I can always count on you to wish me the best,” Oikawa responded cheerfully. “I have an utterly wonderful personality, so I trust that I'll have a wonderful day, too!” 

“Get into the goddamn taxi already.” 

He waved back over his shoulder as he hurried off, and Iwaizumi returned the gesture, hoping he'd be okay. He had to work today too, but hell, he was definitely going to check up on Oikawa as often as he could. 

Somehow, he had a sense that today would go better though, at least for Oikawa. Maybe it was his heart’s hope speaking rather than his gut, but he chose to be optimistic. 

Both of them would have a good day, he decided as he turned around to start pacing towards his work. 

\-------

Oikawa exhaled slowly, and his breath swept out in front of him, dissipating just before the stark white line of the court. Third set, and he was still on the bench. There was no chance that they'd win straight through either. Their opponents were plucky, taking a bit to hit their rhythm in a foreign, unfamiliar place, but they were good. Ushijima hadn't gotten in a single clean spike without being touched, if not blocked or received. Oikawa could sense the coach's frustration beside him, Hinata's restlessness twitching on his other side. Oikawa, however, was still. His eyes were clear, expression completely neutral as he absorbed every movement, noted every possibility and which one the opposite team chose. He could see the beads of panic starting to form on Kageyama's brow, the frequent cries of encouragement - okay, mostly criticizing yells - from Yaku dampening down. He saw it all.

Oikawa's concentration was absolute. 

"Oikawa," the coach said suddenly. Oikawa didn't move, only acknowledging him with a little hum. 

"I'm putting you in next set. Start warming up." 

"Aye aye, Coach," Oikawa said smoothly, straightening up off of the bench without taking his eyes from the game for an instant. "I won't let you down." 

"Get one more set, and I'll be happy." 

Oikawa turned around at the end of the bench, flashing him an "okay" sign, thumb and forefinger connecting lightly. "You don't have to worry about that, Coach. Leave it to me."

_ I have no reason to doubt myself _ , echoed in his mind. 

The coach only nodded back, and Oikawa methodically set about his warm-ups, the dulled throb in his knee reminding him that he shouldn't be doing this. However, he'd downed enough painkillers to take away the sharpness of the pain, so he really should be okay. 

A few minutes later, and the set ended. Their team's loss, putting the score at 2-1, Japan - England. Still ahead, by a whisker-width. Players gathering around him, the coach stood up and made his announcement. 

"Kageyama, cool off. You're getting tunnel vision. I'm putting Oikawa on." 

Kageyama's eyes widened, and he surged forward, mouth opening in a distressed protest before Yaku's arm crossed his chest and stopped him. Oikawa couldn't hold back a little smirk, as childish as it was. Karma. 

"Don't get me wrong," the coach continued. "You did a great job on the first two sets. But their number six's blocks are throwing you off, whether you want to admit it or not. Oikawa has been observing the match, and I'm sure he has a way to handle him."

"Of course!" Oikawa chipped in, smiling at Kageyama with a glint in his chilling eyes. 

"Then go ahead." 

"Okay!" Oikawa announced, moving into the middle of the circle. He clapped his hands together, revealing an easy smile. "He's a bluffer. There's really no need to be scared of him at all. He may be precise but he's slow. A few consecutive quicks and he'll be completely overwhelmed and out of his depth. Those formidable blocks will collapse right before our eyes. So," he continued. "I'm going to be using you-" here he pointed at Hinata "-a lot more. Do what you do best, scuttering around and whatever else you do. It'll be exhausting, but-" 

"I can do it!" Hinata declared, and Oikawa's eyelids lowered, feeling confidence swirl within him. He knew what he was doing. 

"Apart from that," Oikawa told them. "You need to-”

Kageyama’s gaze was wide, despite his unchanging expression. Oikawa stood there, an easy, assured smirk crawling on his lips as he told - no,  _ commanded _ \- the team what to do, hands aiding his explanations of his observations about their opponents. Normally, the prideful team would be resisting any advice, but Oikawa was, well, in a word,  _ captivating _ . He made you want to follow him. Kageyama could feel himself slipping back into middle-school envious admiration, for god’s sake, and he was well over that phase. His fingers laced together tightly, and Hinata, ever the annoying fidgety observant luminescent blob of orange, leaned over. 

“You're not pissy about being swapped out, are you?” 

“‘Course not,” Kageyama shot back. “That'd be stupid and immature, dumbass.” 

One hand lifted up to cover Hinata’s mouth, stifling a guilty snort. “You are, aren't you? You're totally irritated that this is Oikawa-san’s first match as a sub and he's already going to be in the game.” 

“Shut up,” Kageyama hissed, pinching the back of Hinata’s neck, hard. “The coach’s looking at us.” 

But it wasn't the coach that intervened. 

“Tobio-chan,” Oikawa addressed him brightly, stopping his little speech, and every head turned towards them. “Chibi-chan needs his head attached to his neck, and so do we, so if you could stop trying to sever it, that would be beyond great. Got it?” 

He coupled his words with a charming smile, tilting his head to the side with a hand casually resting on his hip. Kageyama dropped his hand immediately. 

“Apologies, Oikawa-san.”

“Much appreciated,” Oikawa chirped back, the false warmth of his smile slipping just a bit, revealing some of the haughty coldness Kageyama was a lot more familiar with. 

The team’s focus spun back to him, and Kageyama breathed a sigh of relief. 

“You're actually scared of him! How lame!” Hinata chortled out, and Kageyama thought that detaching his head from his neck wasn't such a bad idea after all. 

“Shut up!” Kageyama snapped back as subtly as he could, which wasn't very.

The coach gave him another warning side-eye, but luckily Oikawa either forgave his interruption or didn't notice it. The bell rang, and Oikawa once again flashed a beaming grin at everyone, silently assuring that their victory was in the bag. He was here, after all. Losing wasn't in Oikawa's vocabulary. 

Kageyama sat down mechanically on the bench, ignoring Hinata's childish teasing of sticking out his tongue, and drank from a water bottle. He had to admit, his brain wasn't processing information as smoothly as normal - he had put it down to the unsettlement of Oikawa observing him, but it was the third set already. 

He heard the coach sit beside him, and he lowered the bottle, watching Hinata's excited little jumps as they waited for the other team to get into position. They didn't seem concerned about the change of setters. 

“They don't think that anyone can match your scarily accurate tosses. They're in for a shock,” the coach supplied, and Kageyama’s attention rotated towards Oikawa, his chin held high as he spoke to the foreign middle blocker, presumably doing his best to shit-talk him in what English he had. 

What freaked Kageyama out was that it appeared to be working. Apparently Oikawa's methods of intimidation were universal, the mean sheen in his eyes he could summon at will bypassing the need of languages. 

Kageyama didn't say anything back to the coach, but apparently he didn't need to. The first point was scored before the other team could even react, a bold quick from the centre. Watching how Oikawa heartily congratulated the spiker, Kageyama exhaled deeply and reminded himself to try and learn from him. He hadn't been communicating with his teammates well so far, and yet there was Oikawa, melding in seamlessly with a team he'd practiced twice with. Envy raced through him, but he attempted to keep his head clear, to not lose his focus, or else he wouldn't get another look-in in this match. 

When the second consecutive point was scored, their opponents finally began showing signs of unease about this new setter. By that time, however, it was Oikawa's turn to serve, and they were too late. 

\--

In a word, Oikawa's control of the fourth and final set was...Kageyama swallowed hard, unable to deny his unsettlement. 

Terrifying. 

It was both incredible and petrifying, how he spotted an instant of hesitation, a tiny habit, and ploughed right into it, splitting it wide open into an exploitable weakness like a crowbar shattering a sturdy door. 

That blocker who always followed the setter’s previous glances to estimate who the toss would go to? Rendered useless. Oikawa knew well how to throw people off the mark, and moreso, away from his actual thoughts and intentions. 

The powerful, tall ace who used to be blasting through their blocks? Never got the chance to shoot a clean point, and more often than not Yaku was there, perfectly placed to receive the ball which seemed to be unable to go anywhere else but right into his waiting arms. 

It was Oikawa, of course. He hadn't wasted his time on the bench. Far from it. 

The team rallied behind him, the chess pieces obeying the player’s every tactical whim. His serves decimated the opponents, the ball slamming down untouched more often than ever, crushing their mentality one solid whistle blow at a time. 

It wasn’t long before the other team took their last, dismal time-out, in an effort to delay the inevitable. 

“Nice, Yaku!” Oikawa grinned, slapping his back firmly. “Did you see that ace’s expression when you returned his spike? He was so pissed!” 

He threw his head back and chortled, seemingly in high spirits. Kageyama could feel it too, a sort of humming energy in the air, leaking out of their adrenaline-drenched muscles, an exhilarated impatience to hurry up, hurry up and finish the game, finish as victors.  The coach stepped back, and Kageyama, feeling like a spare part, stood up and joined the circle forming by itself around Oikawa, who was patiently addressing each member in turn, praising and offering individual criticism where needed. Yaku often chimed in when he had something to add, until he got to Ushijima. 

“You’re doing fine, like always,” Oikawa told him shortly, with a stiff smile. 

He attempted to pass over onto Hinata, but Yaku heaved a sigh and thumped Oikawa on the arm. “That’s not what you really think. Stop being such a petty bitch and help him improve.”

Oikawa scowled over at him, rubbing his arm as he stuck out his tongue at Yaku. Sighing, he turned away from Ushijima, placing his hands on his hips as he spoke. 

“Fine. You’re sloppier than usual. Stop trying to constantly battle blockers, especially the tough ones. Use your goddamn thick skull and feint sometimes, okay? Trust me, they’ll be so shocked that they’ll let their blocks grow looser, and then you can spike more easily. Got it?”

He punctuated his words with a sharp huff, still refusing to meet Ushijima’s gaze. 

Ushijima nodded seriously, tapping down the top of his water bottle. “Alright. You can toss more to me, then. I’ll score.”

Oikawa folded his arms across his chest and spun around back to Hinata. Yaku dug his elbow sharply into his side, and Oikawa sniffed, but made no attempt to acknowledge Ushijima’s response. 

“Oikawa,” the coach spoke up. 

“Fine, I will. Whatever,” Oikawa finally conceded, tilting his chin upwards as he regarded Ushijima defensively. 

He didn't give him a chance to react before swiftly changing his attention to Hinata, Yaku heaving a sigh and scratching the back of his head. 

“Don't be so down,” someone piped up. “It wouldn't be the same team without those two on each other's nerves.”

“It'd be fucking great if Oikawa would stop being such a childish cunt and got over himself, though,” Yaku pointed out, rolling his eyes. 

“Chill, Yaku. It's not like they're killing each other.” 

“That's like saying ‘well, at least we're not at war’ when we're losing a match,” Yaku shot back. “It's ridiculous, out of context and doesn't make sense. Oikawa just needs to grow up.” 

“I can hear you, you know. I'm right next to you,” Oikawa announced loudly, pausing his advice for a moment to glare down at Yaku. 

He knew better than to try and smack him for it, though. 

“Oh, really?” Yaku raised an eyebrow. “You don't seem to be listening to me. You're still clinging onto a stupid grudge you should've been over years ago.” 

Ushijima’s gaze flicked over Yaku’s adamant form. “Oikawa and I have been talking recently, though. I believe our relationship has improved somewhat.”

“Oh my god Ushiwaka, I can't admit I've been communicating with a loser like you,” Oikawa hissed out, but Yaku’s mouth broke into a relieved smile. “So it wasn't just my imagination - you two are working better together! Hey, who knew that you'd start to sort your own issues out?” 

“Wait, did you say all that just to confirm your suspicions?!” Oikawa demanded. “You irritating little-”

Yaku's body tensed up, and Oikawa stopped dead, placing a soothing smile over his face. “I mean, it's so nice to see that all our hard work is paying off. I'm so glad you noticed it!” 

Yaku gave him a sideways glower that told him he didn't get away with anything, but then the bell was clattering on and they had to return the court. Oikawa spread one more easy smile around the group. “Everyone clear on what they have to do?” 

A determined chorus of voices rose up in response to his query, his question which didn't particularly need an answer. He already knew. Oikawa's expression flattened as he began striding forward, the team slotting into formation behind his footsteps. 

“Let’s win this thing, shall we?” 

\------ 

Cries adorned the air surrounding the court, their sharpened, concentrated focus tuning out the excited yells of the crowds. 

"Watch number five!"    
"Over here!"    
"Give it to me!"

"Three, two..."   
Oikawa could feel pain throbbing along the entirety of his leg as he crouched on the balls of his feet, face angled upwards, ready to jump.    
"One!"    
Oikawa leapt, challenging the spiker mid-air, alongside two of his teammates. It was over in an instant, and Oikawa felt a quick, sharp tug on his fingernails as the ball slammed into his outstretched palm, diverting it away and upwards.    
"One touch!" He yelled out, no doubt in his mind that ever-vigilant Yaku would pick it up.    
He got in position quickly, total focus on the spinning ball now sailing expertly towards his raised hands. With a deep exhale, Oikawa only took a millisecond to note the position of the opponent blockers, his own teammates, the ones off-balance, the ones under pressure, the confident ones. This and more flew through his brain as the tilted into his hands, then out again, and was promptly tipped over the net and three blockers by Ushijima. Oikawa watched with mute satisfaction as the receivers spurred themselves forward desperately, the ball clashing against the court just beyond their frantic fingertips. Allowing himself a small smile, Oikawa turned to Ushijima and nodded. 

He was on fire today. 

Ushijima nodded back, then calmly walked back to his proper position. Flipping his attention back to the unnerved opponents, Oikawa almost got the shock of his life when someone tapped him on the shoulder.    
"Oikawa."   
Oikawa spun around to take in Yaku, who immediately pointed at his hand.    
"Don't tell me you intend to continue playing with that."    
Oikawa glanced down at his left hand, and his eyes broadened for a second, before flatly composing himself. He raised it, ignoring the blood running down the creases of his palm, and examined the damage.    
The top of his ring fingernail was yanked back from the skin underneath, blood welling up from the forceful separation and draining down his finger in slow rivulets.    
It should be hurting, Oikawa realised finally, wondering if he took too many painkillers.    
There was a faint - definitely subtle enough to be missed if he hadn't been concentrating on it - pang of pain, yes, but that was all.    
The injury whistle blew, and Oikawa's head snapped up towards the coach.    
"I'm fine! I can play on," he demanded, refusing to budge an inch.    
"Well, you can't get blood on the ball, so at least let the medic look at it, so buck up," Yaku declared, shoving him off the court.    
Oikawa almost dug his heels in, but he reluctantly allowed Yaku to haul himself off the court and into the huddle around the side. The coach immediately grabbed his arm, dragging his wrist closer to examine his finger with a clefted frown. 

“Careless.” 

Oikawa felt his face flush. “It wasn't my fault! I didn't expect him to hit it that way.”

“Don't bullshit me. You moved your hand because you knew he was hitting it that way. You injured yourself.” 

Oikawa bit his lip, holding back a light hiss of discomfort as the medic began cleaning away the blood. “But I can still play, when it's wrapped,” he pushed. 

The medic glanced up at him. “Is anything else hurting? It hit your hand an unusual way to partially rip off a fingernail - there could be more damage done we're just not seeing.” 

Oikawa waved a hand around dismissively. “Nothing hurts but where my poor nail was savagely torn away. I'm fine. I can play on.” 

The coach’s eyes drifted over to the scoreboard and spoke, but not to Oikawa. 

“Think you can get two more straight points?” 

Kageyama sprung to his feet. “Of course.” 

Oikawa's lips recoiled back from his teeth, nose wrinkling up in a show of utmost distaste. For an instant, and then his expression was smooth again, his voice precisely oiled and confident. 

“If you switch me out now, they'll get a boost of confidence,” he told the coach quickly. “They aren't scared of Tobio-chan. I know I can get those two points faster than he can, now that the opponents are already wary of me. If I'm benched, they'll be relieved. I can't ease up on the pressure now,” he finished, sure that the coach would let him on the court again. 

The coach shook his head. “Have faith in your teammates, even when you're not there. I don't want to risk further injury to you, especially since you're starting tomorrow.” 

“I'm starting tomorrow?” Oikawa repeated. 

The coach gave him a sharp nod. “After that performance, of course.” 

Kageyama fixated his blank gaze across the other side of the court, where the opponents were milling about with a forlorn pensiveness. Oikawa had, without a single doubt, executed his job. More than perfectly. It only stood with logic that he'd be chosen to start for the next match. 

It still stung. 

Oikawa fell silent, thoughtfully chewing on his lip for a moment. “Alright,” he announced, spinning around to Tobio. “You better not mess this up, you utter brat, or I swear I'll-”

He was interrupted by Yaku’s palm smacking over his mouth firmly. 

“What he means is that you'll do a great job out there, Kags. No need to worry. It's only two points, and we've got your back.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Hinata piped up, appearing from behind his much taller counterpart Ushijima, who seemed bemused as to where he emerged from. “I'm here, too!”

“I don't need support from someone who only learned to receive half-decently when they were eighteen,” Kageyama snapped back, to which Hinata huffed.

“I was seventeen!” 

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “I don't have to listen to you morons. Just toss to Ushiwaka-chan, those half-assed blockers couldn't stop him at this point anyways even if they tried. You're welcome, by the way.” 

Yaku raised an eyebrow as Hinata and Kageyama descended into a round of another silent, stormy stare-off. “Was that a compliment towards Ushijima?” 

“I'm just stating the facts,” Oikawa told him, folding his arms over his chest and tilting his chin up defensively. “If he chooses to take it as a compliment, that isn't my problem.” 

Yaku turned to Ushijima, who shrugged offhandedly. “He just said the truth.” 

“As modest as ever, I see,” Yaku commented dryly, and then the buzzer finally went, and Kageyama jumped, startled. 

Hinata immediately started laughing at him, which was returned with a vicious lunge for his bob of ginger hair. As Hinata bounded onto the court with mocking words, followed by yells concerning his idiocy, Oikawa sat down on the bench, watching them go with an elbow propped on his (left) knee and his cheek slouched against his palm. 

They were so weird, but they worked together, and somehow, Oikawa didn't feel any bitterness. 

\---

They won. Oikawa's heart was light as the cheers of his team gushed up around him in a tangle of sweaty arms and ecstatic grins, and he happily added his own one to the bunch. 

\---

His phone began vibrating consistently against the cold cement, and Iwaizumi sighed, his hands buried in the underside of a four-wheel-drive. Perfect timing. 

As soon as he could, Iwaizumi slid out from underneath the jeep, hands covered in grime and face splattered with the damn brake fluid that kept mysteriously clogging  _ somewhere _ . Wiping his hand in his overalls, he reached for his phone and answered without hesitation. He didn't even get a word out before Oikawa's voice blasted down the line. 

“Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan, Iwa-chaaaaan!” 

Eyes flattening and lips lowering into an “for fuck’s sake” expression, Iwaizumi held the phone about a foot away from his ear to avoid permanent damage. It wasn't even on speaker. 

“Yeah?” 

“Let’s go out tonight! Like, a proper date! Come on! It'll be fun, I promise!”

“That's a lot of exclamation marks. Why are you this excited?” Iwaizumi asked, suddenly grateful it was a slow day. “And stop trying to convince me when I haven't even said anything yet.” 

There was a slight hesitation on the other end. “Is it a crime to be in a good mood and want to spend a romantic evening with your boyfriend?” came the light reply. “I already have a restaurant in mind, it's perfect, trust me.” 

“It's not expensive, is it?” 

“Nooo! Stop thinking of money the entire time for once!” Oikawa sounded exasperated. “I know not to be careless with money - now, in any case. So trust me! It'll turn out great, I know it.” 

Iwaizumi sighed, unable to refuse Oikawa's enthusiasm. Not that he wanted to in the first place.

“A date at a proper restaurant sounds nice,” he admitted, eyebrows scrunching up as he tried to recall when last he was in one. “I can get off work in an hour or so - where do you want to meet?” 

“Home is fine, we can walk from there.” 

“I take it that today went better than yesterday?”

“A bazillion times better! I'll tell-” there was a slight falter, “I'll tell you all about it tonight.” 

Iwaizumi sensed there was more to the statement, but he let it slide in favour of preserving Oikawa's good mood. 

“Sounds good. See you in an hour or so?” 

“Bye!” Oikawa chirped, “L-”

Iwaizumi frowned at the sudden dialling tone, checking that he hadn't accidentally hung up on him. Nope, he couldn't have. Oikawa must've ended the call, quite abruptly. Shrugging it off, Iwaizumi lay his phone down on the ground - every available pocket was already taken up with socket wrenches and spanners - and shuffled back underneath the jeep. 

\-----

“Love you,” Oikawa finished lamely, staring at his Iwaizumi’s contact picture emptily. 

He couldn't have possibly stopped himself from saying it, but he could cut off the connection in time. Which was exactly what he did. It wasn't his fault - stuff just slipped out when he was excited! Like about telling him everything tonight - Oikawa could barely tell him anything, to his acute dismay. 

He sighed and pocketed his phone, throwing an idle glance around the room. Now what was he supposed to do for an hour? Agreeably, the kitchen could be tidier, along with the sitting room, and the bedroom was...well, one half of it was neat, and that was Iwaizumi’s parts. Oikawa hadn't had time lately to clean up, and it didn't come naturally to him as it seemed to come to Iwaizumi to arrange his clothes even as he looked for something to wear. He knew Iwaizumi would be pleasantly surprised if he returned home and Oikawa had the place spotless, but...

“I don't want to do that,” Oikawa complained aloud, and he could almost feel Iwaizumi’s disapproving glower on his neck. 

Shrugging it off, Oikawa hopped onto the couch, absently rubbing his knee as he scrolled down through Instagram. 

Wait. 

Oikawa's thumb paused, and he quickly flicked back up to the post he'd only caught a glimpse of. His eyes broadened. Yes, that was him, striking against the blurred background of the net, sharp eyes aimed elsewhere and chin tilted determinedly upwards. Oikawa had to admit, he looked damn impressive. He should thank the photographer for publishing such a flattering angle, really. 

He skimmed through the caption. Coming out of retirement, decimating opponents yadda yadda speculation over injury blah blah. Just the typical stuff he'd expect to see, except he hadn't known the media coverage would be this quick. He had been a prominent part of the team four years ago, undoubtedly, and yet…

Oikawa chewed his lower lip. As pleased as he was with the excellent photo, he didn't want to be recognised in public with Iwaizumi, or having him glance through a sports magazine and see him featured. 

His phone buzzed, and Oikawa jerked, vision coming back into focus. Oh. Suga. That was okay. 

He pressed answer, and Sugawara’s voice floated down the line. 

“Hey, Mr. Celebrity. How's it going?” 

“I wouldn't call myself a celebrity,” Oikawa replied smoothly. “More like royal status. Maybe a prince. ‘Prince Oikawa’ has a lovely ring to it, don't you think?” 

There was a short laugh. “As modest as ever, I see. Don't get too much more up yourself, it was only a small article.” 

“Article? Where?”

“A bit in the sports section of Tokyo Times. Don't tell me you haven't seen it?” 

“Uh, not yet,” Oikawa responded, desperately trying to recall if Iwaizumi ever read newspapers or not. 

He didn't, to Oikawa's knowledge, but it didn't reassure him as much as he'd like. 

“Oikawa?”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm here. So has Sawamura brought up kids yet?” 

“Oikawa! It's only been a few weeks!” 

Oikawa chose the one subject he knew would distract Suga from his temporary silence, and like usually, he was correct. 

\---

Oikawa whittled away the hour or so with a much-needed catch-up, and the jealousy that usually pierced Oikawa when Suga talked of Daichi - his voice was always so wondrously tender - wasn't there. He had Iwa-chan now, and he no longer had anything to envy - in fact, he found himself chattering on about him a lot more than intended. 

Before he knew it, the door was clicking open, and Iwaizumi’s voice called out to him from the hallway. 

“Oikawa?”

“Iwa-chan! Be right back, Suga-kun!”

Oikawa bounded over to him, and Iwaizumi met him halfway, scooping him up into a hug. He smelt like engine oil and copper grease, a toolshed mixture of mechanical smells Oikawa couldn't identify. 

“I swear it's like you haven't seen me in months,” Oikawa teased, hands gripping his shoulders. “Did you miss me that much?” 

“You're the one who launched himself at me,” Iwaizumi retorted back, arms embracing Oikawa's waist. 

“You're the one who caught me,” Oikawa pointed out, eyes deepening warmly as he lay his forehead against Iwaizumi's. 

“Yeah, well, whatever,” Iwaizumi responded, harsh words difficult with Oikawa's smile creases so near. “Let’s go get some food. I'm starving.” 

“Okay, Iwa-chan,” came the content agreement. “But shower first, you stink.” 

\-------

The place was quiet - understated, almost. Iwaizumi immediately liked it. He wasn't really a fancy restaurant person, and it seemed like Oikawa had guessed how uncomfortable he would be in an upper-class one. 

He curled his fingers through Oikawa's gratefully, resting naturally on his knee underneath the table. Oikawa shot him a little smile as the waiter moved away, the smile as elegant and subtle as their surroundings. 

“I told you you'd like it.”

“I didn't say that I liked it.”

“I can tell~” 

Oikawa leaned over nearer to him, displaying his distinctive shitty grin, eyes sparkling brighter than champagne glasses, and for once Iwaizumi wished he didn't radiate stardust. 

“I can read you like a book,” he taunted, and Iwaizumi’s free hand rose and tweaked his nose with a twist of his wrist. 

Oikawa withdrew quickly, rubbing his nose. “That hurt!”

“So you couldn't tell I was about to do that?” 

“I did,” Oikawa insisted. “I just didn't have time to react!” 

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes sarcastically, inching just a little nearer to him around the curve of the circular table. “Sure you did.” 

“I did!” 

The two of them bickered on until their food arrived - that hadn't been Iwaizumi’s intention, he wanted to talk to Oikawa about how his day went - but every time Iwaizumi attempted to break out of an irrelevant argument Oikawa would challenge him with yet another petty complaint. It was hard for Iwaizumi to totally bypass a comment and push a certain subject - he wasn't as skilled in verbal tango as Oikawa was. 

“Look, how about telling me about your day?” Iwaizumi sighed out in exasperation finally, cutting across Oikawa's meaningless rambling. 

He could see Oikawa start to panic inwardly, his trembling hands masked over by a swift brushing of his fringe to the side and an easy, false smile. 

“What about it? Waiter,” he called out in the next breath, rotating away from Iwaizumi, whose eye twitched just slightly. 

“Oikawa, why are you-” 

The presence of a waiter silenced him, and he almost made the mistake of not glancing down at the menu in Oikawa's hands. Oikawa opened his mouth to speak, but Iwaizumi got there first. 

“Just a bottle of water, thanks,” he said, and the waiter nodded. 

“Anything else?” 

The instant Oikawa's lips parted again, Iwaizumi gripped his hand tighter than ever, hoping he'd get the message. 

“No, that's all. Thanks,” he finished, and Oikawa's lips shut, glaring over at him with a full pout arranged on his features. 

Iwaizumi reached over and plucked the wine menu from his fingers. Oikawa propped his elbow up on the table and settled his chin in his palm, huffily looking away from him, into the distance. He tried to tug his hand from Iwaizumi’s, but he wasn't having any of it.  

“Oh, so I can't order what I want, and now you won't even let me sulk,” Oikawa snapped out irritably. 

“I think it's better if you don't have any alcohol tonight,” Iwaizumi told him, iron gaze steadfast and stubborn. 

Oikawa's head jerked upwards, his hand slamming to the table with an abrupt noise too loud to be accidental. “It's fucking wine! I'm not going to get drunk from that! At least, not too drunk!” 

“You don't need to get drunk.” 

“I won't,” Oikawa protested. “It's just something to take the edge off - you should have some, too.” 

“No thanks. And why? Do you feel uneasy with me?” Iwaizumi asked, genuine concern lacing through his voice. 

Oikawa shook his head, mute for some moments as his fingers tangled together in tense knots. “Let's talk about something else. How's your mother doing?”

Iwaizumi was quiet for a few seconds, split between pursuing the seemingly forbidden subject and risking the whole night going to shit, or continuing on like nothing had happened. He received a glimpse of the steel circling Oikawa's eyes, and suddenly knew that he wasn't going to get anywhere with the first option. 

“She's doing okay, I guess,” he answered, relaxing his grasp on Oikawa's hand. “It's tough on her - both the rehab and Shou - but she'll get through it.” 

Oikawa chewed on his lower lip, clearly with another query on his mind. 

“Spit it out,” Iwaizumi remarked shortly. 

Oikawa seemed to be a bit ticked off for an instant - perhaps because Iwaizumi could tell so quickly what he wanted to do - then spoke. 

“Should we tell her about us? I mean, you should be overjoyed to have me as a boyfriend, of course, but she still thinks we're platonic...unless you've already told her?” 

Iwaizumi shook his head. “I wouldn't tell her without asking you first. And I don't know how my mom would react. I've only brought home women before, but I did have a conversation with her before about my first guy crush. She seemed cool with it.” 

“Then let’s find out! You have time after this, right? We can visit her then.” 

“Are you sure you want to tell her?” 

“Yes!” Oikawa insisted. “I like your mom, and I want to be honest with her.” 

“I suppose I can see where you're coming from,” Iwaizumi conceded. “But what about your parents?”

Oikawa gave him a rigid smile. “Let's not.” 

“Not...tell them or discuss them?”

“Both,” Oikawa told him cheerfully. 

Iwaizumi frowned, leaning forwards. “They don't even know you like guys, do they?” 

Oikawa offered him a fluid, graceful shrug in reply, somewhat distant and uncaring. “It doesn't matter. I never see them anyways.” 

“What about your sister?” 

Oikawa pulled a face. “My sister’s cool, but sometimes they catch me when I just want to visit her. It's annoying.” 

The waiter popped over once again with their bottle of water, and Oikawa's lips whitened, but he didn't say anything. 

“And you really don't want to say anything to them?” Iwaizumi asked. 

Oikawa's mouth pursed up. “No. I don't want anything to do with them at all.” 

His tone said that this was the final statement he would make on the matter. Iwaizumi let out a shallow sigh. 

“Fine,” he conceded. “It's your choice.”

“Exactly,” Oikawa agreed readily, then smiled gently, squeezing Iwaizumi’s hand. “Now, where were we?” 

Iwaizumi smiled back quietly, seeing the opportunity offered for switching the subject, starting over to a less awkward conversation. 

“About your parents.” 

He wasn't taking it. 

Oikawa's eyes narrowed, and he pulled back a little, crossing his arms over his chest. “What about them?” 

“I want to know about them. About your family, you childhood. I told you about mine.” 

“That's-” Oikawa faltered, rubbing down his face wearily. “I don't want to talk about it. Maybe I will someday, but I'm in a good mood right now, we're in a nice restaurant, and I don't want to ruin this.” 

Iwaizumi exhaled, considering. He was undeniably curious, but he wasn't about to push Oikawa into telling him what he was uncomfortable with. 

“Alright. Then -”

He began the story of how, today at work, some sweet-talking lad had tried to first impress him with his knowledge of car parts. 

“He wasn't using anything correctly. He told me that the alternator belt was making a strange noise, then it turned out to be the brake pads. And he kept trying to get me to drop a good word about him for Kiyoko, asking me if I knew her number, shit like that. When that didn't work, he got all pissed off and accused me of keeping her to myself.” Iwaizumi snorted. “He even thought that I was dating her.” 

Oikawa chortled, leaning his cheek against his palm, other hand once again intertwined with Iwaizumi’s. “Then what did you do?” 

“I didn't see any point in telling him that we're both dating someone of the same gender,” Iwaizumi shrugged. “I just kind of gave him a look, and he backed off after that.” 

Oikawa raised his eyebrows. “Oh, so you scared him into submission? That's hot.” 

“I didn't scare him!” Iwaizumi objected. “I didn't mean to glare, but he was being kind of an ass.” 

One corner of Oikawa's mouth lifted. “It sounds like you terrified him. Your face can look quite intimidating at times, if you haven't noticed.” 

Iwaizumi pulled a face, and Oikawa pointed excitedly. “See! Like that, except when you're angry it's worse! You look like you'd rip the head off of a teddy bear.” 

Iwaizumi grimaced. “That's harsh, Oikawa.” 

Oikawa laughed, sipping at his water. “I'm just telling the truth, Iwa-chan. You wouldn't shoot such a handsome messenger, would you?” 

The waiter darted over with their meals then, and the rest of the evening was spent similarly, with neither Oikawa nor Iwaizumi veering over to the topic of his parents, alcohol or work. The haze of pleasant conversation and tender touches under the table had Iwaizumi’s head light and spinning, Oikawa's loosened shoulder and laughter enticing him to lean closer every time he smiled. 

Iwaizumi gradually noticed people filtering out of the doors, and that their dishes had been whisked off their table quite a while ago. He checked the time quickly. 

“Fuck. Oikawa, we need to go if we're visiting my mom.” 

Oikawa stopped mid-flow of his sentence, nodded, and pulled out his wallet. “How much is it?” 

“I’ll pay,” Iwaizumi replied firmly. 

“It was my idea,” Oikawa pointed out, drumming his fingertips onto the table. 

“You paid for me last time. Did you actually think I wouldn't notice?” 

Oikawa rolled his eyes, but there was smile seeping onto his lips. “You can be an idiot at times, so yeah, I did.” 

Iwaizumi stood up and shoved at his shoulder, causing Oikawa to buckle over to the side, cackling aloud, “I'm kidding Iwa-chan, kidding!” 

He scrambled up after him as Iwaizumi headed to the desk to pay. “Hey, wait! I told you I'm paying? Do you ever listen to me, thickhead?” 

Iwaizumi ignored him, handing over the money without a word to Oikawa. Oikawa tossed his head to the side with irritation, waiting by his side as the transaction was completed. 

“You're so infuriating sometimes,” he told him as they turned towards the door. 

“You're worse,” Iwaizumi answered back starkly as he slung an arm around Oikawa's shoulders. 

The cooling air flowed over their faces, the musty smell of the city evening mingling into the night. Oikawa felt Iwaizumi rub his hand up and down his arm, banishing all the goosebumps. He wrapped an arm around Iwaizumi's lower back, leaning into his side, and smiled, for himself more than anything else. 

\-------

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Iwaizumi mentioned as they approached the room, the back of Oikawa's hand always touching against his. 

“Of course,” Oikawa declared confidently. “Do you?”

“Yeah. I know she'd want to know what's going on in my life, and you're a pretty big part of it.”

Iwaizumi still hesitated by the door, glancing at the clock down the hall. “Visiting hours are almost over, and I'm sure she's tired. We'd better make it quick.” 

“It will be,” Oikawa offered optimistically, leaning down on the door handle and gliding inside the room with the door’s rotation. “Hi, Iwaizumi-san!”

Iwaizumi’s mother cracked open her eyes, and Oikawa gave her a sheepish smile, padding into the room further, trailed by Hajime. 

“Hi, Mom. How are you doing?”

“Hello, boys,” Misaki answered, eyes crinkling up into a welcoming smile as Iwaizumi walked over and helped her to sit up. 

“Did we wake you up?” Oikawa asked, settling on the end of the bed. 

“It doesn't matter,” she answered warmly, and Iwaizumi bent over, pressing his lips fondly to her forehead. 

“It does matter, Mom. If you're tired, we’ll go.” 

“No, no, I’m fine,” she insisted, lifting a hand to pinch the side of Hajime’s cheek. “What have you two been up to, then?” 

Iwaizumi’s gaze flickered back to Oikawa's, who nodded - well, in reality it was a bare upturn of his lips, a certain, familiar movement of his eyelashes - but Iwaizumi got the message. He licked his lips, mouth dry and pulsing as he sat down between his mother and Oikawa. 

“Well, Oikawa and I worked most of the day, but we had some free time afterwards, so we went to a restaurant,” Iwaizumi started, wondering exactly how the hell he was supposed to naturally work the fact that they were romantically involved into normal conversation. 

“Oh, that sounds lovely. Which one?” 

Oikawa's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and he prodded Iwaizumi in the back as he was giving the name of the restaurant. He leaned forwards as Iwaizumi twisted around, murmuring under his breath. 

“If you don't want to tell her, that's fine. We can tell her another time.” 

Iwaizumi shook his head, pressed his lips together, and turned back to his mother, who looked slightly lost among all the subtle gestures and soft voices. It was like they could communicate without the use of any verbal words at all. 

“Is something-”

“I'm dating Oikawa,” Iwaizumi blurted out, and grabbed Oikawa's hand, ignoring the fact that his palms were practically dripping with sweat. Surprisingly, Oikawa didn't protest at how gross it was, choosing silence. 

Misaki blinked, taken aback for a moment. Iwaizumi felt sharp teeth dig into his heart, nervousness sucking out all of his air. Oikawa's hand gripped his harder. Then Misaki breathed out a laugh, hoarse and dry, but genuine. 

“I really should've guessed that before now, shouldn't I? I could tell that Hajime was fond of you, but it never crossed my mind that his feelings were anything more than platonic.” 

“They weren't, for quite a while,” Iwaizumi inputted, eyes still anxious as he spoke. “So, you're not…against it or anything?” 

Misaki shook her head, a smile on her lips. “You didn't think I'd condemn your relationship, did you? It's a bit of a surprise, alright, but I don't care who you're with, as long as you're happy.” 

Iwaizumi’s lips broke out into a smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

“It may take me a while to get used to it, though,” she continued. “I've only ever seen Hajime with girls before.” 

“Yeah, Oikawa's a first,” Iwaizumi agreed, and Oikawa felt him squeeze his hand briefly. 

Oikawa shot him a starry-eyed smile, and leaned his head on his shoulder, directing his thankful smile at his mother. “Thanks, Iwaizumi-san. It really does mean a lot that you accept me.” 

“I suppose you can call me Misaki now,” Misaki told him, tilting her head to the side. 

“I'll call you Misaki-san,” Oikawa decided with a nod of his head. “I'm sorry, but Misaki would be weird.” 

She chuckled. “I agree. Misaki-san it is. But I'm warning you, one misstep with my son and you'll have to answer to me.” 

Her voice hardened, and Oikawa’s cheeks grew flushed. “I promise, I'm not going to do anything bad,” he insisted. “Definitely not after you saying that, anyways.” 

Iwaizumi snorted. “I don't think you have to worry, Mom.” 

“I'm going to worry, Hajime. You're my son.” Her gaze drooped downwards, and a knot formed in Iwaizumi’s throat. 

“I won't hurt him,” came Oikawa's soft voice from behind him, and Misaki’s eyes latched onto his, striking green meeting hazy brown. 

“I hope you mean that,” she responded, and Iwaizumi felt Oikawa's fingers tighten around his. 

He thought of Oikawa's alcohol-rotted breath. 

“I'll try my best,” Oikawa said lamely, then flinched, as if trying to shrink, hide behind Hajime’s form. 

Iwaizumi shifted around to face him, one hand rising to gently circle the nape of his neck, drawing their faces nearer together.

“Have more faith in yourself,” he said simply. 

Oikawa's shoulders tensed up. Regardless, he nodded, shrugging stiffly. “I told you, I'll try.” 

Iwaizumi touched their foreheads together briefly before withdrawing, a part of him still worried about what his mother would think, how she was reacting to this. When he glanced at her expression, there was a muted smile on her lips, one that he recognised from the stands in his volleyball tournaments. Pride, mingled with affection. 

His heart relaxed. 

After that, their relationship was pretty much ignored, and that was the way Iwaizumi liked it - nothing changed between him and his beloved mother. Oikawa chattered along amiably like usual, his mother nodding every so often with a smile curling up the edge of her lips. It was all like normal - the only exception was how openly Oikawa touched him, and how freely Iwaizumi allowed himself to smile every time he felt Oikawa's fingertips brushing against his skin. 

Before long however, he could see his mother tiring, her eyes turning vacant for a brief moment before snapping back to attention. Iwaizumi squeezed her hand. 

“We’d better go now. Goodnight, Mom.” 

He gave her a quick kiss on her cheek, and Oikawa stood up. “Sleep well, Misaki-san.” 

“You too,” she murmured, Iwaizumi aiding her back into a lying position. “Don't stay up too late, boys.” 

“We won't,” Iwaizumi promised with a smile, straightening up. “I'll drop in tomorrow, alright?” 

She weakly lifted a hand, waving at him. “Sure, just get out of here before you get in trouble.” 

Iwaizumi pushed at Oikawa's back, and they exited the room as quietly as they could manage. 

\----

“That went better than I'd hoped,” Iwaizumi threw out as he deposited himself on the bed, spreading out his limbs and looking at the little scars engraved in the ceiling. He wondered how they got there - until Oikawa's face filled up his field of vision, the bounce underneath him indicating that Oikawa had joined him on the bed. 

“Yeah!” Oikawa declared happily, clambering on top of Iwaizumi, those extra five centimetres making Iwaizumi tilt his chin up to meet his eyes. “I'd hate to have your mom thinking I turned you gay or something - I'm really glad she's cool with us.” 

“Yeah.” 

Iwaizumi gazed up at him, and Oikawa's mouth curved into a gentle smile. He recalled Oikawa's body arched above him into most elegant of shapes, Oikawa pressing into his own body in the most intimate of ways, and his mouth went dry. 

“Ooh,” Oikawa cooed, gaze dropping. “What are you thinking of, my dirty little Iwa-chan?” 

Iwaizumi cursed his observant nature. He never missed anything, did he? Even a little twitch. But hell was going to freeze over before he gave Oikawa the satisfaction of knowing that he was thinking about them having sex. 

“Boobs,” he said, just to irritate him. 

Oikawa's expression soured. “No you weren't.” 

“I was.”

“Was not.”

“Was.”

“Was not.”

“Stop acting like you're two.” 

“Then stop acting like you're straight,” Oikawa huffed back, narrowing his eyes. 

“Why does it bother you so much? I'm with you,” Iwaizumi answered, wondering. 

“That doesn't mean I like being reminded of the possibility that someday you’ll be with a girl instead of me,” Oikawa sighed out dramatically, flopping backwards onto the bed. 

The back of his hand settled on his forehead, and he stared up at the ceiling, pondering crossing over his face. Iwaizumi watched as the playfulness drained out of his gaze, his nose scrunching up. 

“I just don't like the idea of that,” Oikawa stated blankly. 

“Isn't that natural?” Iwaizumi asked. “I don't like the idea of you being with anyone else, either.” 

“It's not like that for me,” Oikawa said. “It's not just for now.” 

Iwaizumi hummed as he thought, shifting closer to Oikawa. “I can't promise that I'll be here forever. We're only in our mid-twenties, and you're like the second person I ever dated properly.” 

“Oh, thanks,” Oikawa drawled out. “Is there a ‘but’ in there somewhere, or do I have to punch you?” 

“I dunno.” 

Oikawa fell silent for a bit. “You want to experience dating more people, is that it?” 

“I'm not sure.” 

Iwaizumi really wasn't. He hadn't had this much freedom and time in years. He'd missed out on partying, college, everything you could be and do in your late teens without seeming odd. 

“I can tell you, you're not missing out on much. This - you and me - is by far the best relationship I've ever had. It's rarely like this,” Oikawa spoke out honestly. “And you might find someone else like me who you get along with just as well as we do, but I already know that's not the case for me.” He sighed. “I wouldn't stop you if you wanted to try out other people, but -” 

“But?”

“As long as you come back,” Oikawa finished quietly. 

His hand crept over to Iwaizumi's, and rested there. Tilting his head back to gaze at the ceiling, Iwaizumi wove their fingers together, playing with Oikawa's absently. He thought, thought about Oikawa. Oikawa, with his soft, cold hands and warm eyes. 

“It's okay,” he said. “I don't think I'm going anywhere.” 

“Even to find someone who doesn't keep secrets from you?” 

Oikawa's voice was resignated, flat even, as if he expected Iwaizumi to leave. 

“You're going to tell me soon, aren't you? Everyone has secrets and boundaries. I want to respect those.” 

Oikawa's soft chuckling rose to Iwaizumi’s ears, and he frowned at him, confused. “What?”

“You're just such a decent guy, it's unreal,” Oikawa commented. “Any other person would be raging at me by now to spill my guts.” 

“I trust you,” Iwaizumi told him nonchalantly, and he carefully manoeuvred so that he was alongside Oikawa, close enough for their ears to brush against each other. 

“Why?”

“Do I have to explain it?” 

“Yes.”

“Same reason you trust me.” 

“That's not explaining it!” Oikawa sat up in indignation, rolling onto his side to face Iwaizumi. 

Iwaizumi’s lips curled up, splitting into that distinctive Iwaizumi family grin. “Do I really have to explain it?”

“Stop dodging around it,” Oikawa whined, tugging on his hand. “Praise me already.” 

“Your ego doesn't need any more feeding.” 

“It does! It's starving to death and it's going to die if you don't give me compliments within the next twenty seconds,” Oikawa insisted, eyes pleading with Iwaizumi’s soul. 

“Good.”

“You're so cruel!” 

Iwaizumi cracked another smile, grasping Oikawa's chin in his fingers and tilting his pretty face towards his. “Am I, now?” 

Oikawa huffed, rolling off of Iwaizumi to lay beside him on his back, shoulder to shoulder. 

“Yes. I stand by that statement,” Oikawa grumpily responded, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Iwaizumi sat up, bending over Oikawa with a teasing, subtle grin. If you didn't know Iwaizumi, you never would've known he was amused at all, but Oikawa could see it, plain and clear. He averted his gaze off to the side, stubbornly rotating his face away from him. Iwaizumi still approached him anyways, lips meeting the soft curve of his jaw, fingertips trailing down the length of his throat. 

Oikawa's skin broke out shivering at the sensual touches, unable to stop him turning his face to make Iwaizumi’s lips shift to where he really wanted them - pressed against his, warm and tasting of mint. Frowning, he withdrew slightly, hands slicking up Iwaizumi’s back to settle in his hair. 

“Do you have chewing gum?”

“Yeah?” 

“Give me some.”

Iwaizumi sighed, and rustled around in his pocket, producing a packet and tossing it onto Oikawa's face, where it glanced off of his nose and landed beside his cheek. 

“You're so mean,” Oikawa complained, scrabbling around for it blindly. “You do know that sharing stuff is a nice thing to do, right?” 

“I don't have to do nice things for ungrateful people,” Iwaizumi retorted back, picking up the packet and tucking it back into his pocket before Oikawa could get to it. 

“Hey!” Oikawa protested, attempting to reach down into Iwaizumi's closely-guarded back pocket. “You're so-” 

Iwaizumi pushed his mouth on top of his, effectively sealing off his imminent insult. His lips curling open, Iwaizumi drove the kiss deeper, Oikawa's arms slinking up to wind messily around his neck and shoulders, fingers grasping at his defiant strands of hair. Shifting sideways, Iwaizumi managed to manoeuvre on top of Oikawa without breaking the kiss, a calloused hand warmly sliding up the outside of his thigh. 

When Oikawa felt the piece of gum drop onto his tongue, he instinctively enfolded it up, shoving it to his back molars. Pulling back, he gazed up at Iwaizumi’s beautifully flustered, swollen mouth as he chewed on it a few times experimentally. 

“It's stale.” 

“Tough,” Iwaizumi remarked, his eyes flashing down restlessly to Oikawa's lips again. 

“My eyes are up here,” Oikawa commented casually, tilting Iwaizumi’s chin upwards so their eyes met. 

“But your lips are so pretty,” was out of Iwaizumi’s mouth before he could help it. 

Oikawa smirked widely. “What was that about not inflating my ego any more?” 

Irritated, Iwaizumi’s expression diminished into a frown, tearing his eyes away from Oikawa's face completely. “I didn't intend to say that.” 

“But you were thinking it,” Oikawa teased lightly, leaning up to deliberately caress Iwaizumi’s lips with his own. “Anyways, it's nothing I didn't know already.” 

“I swear,” Iwaizumi muttered underneath his breath, which ghosted against Oikawa's damp, anticipating lips. “You've got your head so far up your own ass I'm surprised you can see at all.” 

“Wow, Hajime,” Oikawa sighed out. “What a disappointing comeback. Is something distracting you?” 

He angled his face upwards just a tad more, catching Iwaizumi’s lower lip between his teeth, and then Iwaizumi was crushing his mouth recklessly against his, forcing him back onto the mattress. Oikawa would've smirked if he had the time - he was learning quickly what worked for Iwaizumi, and he wasn't about to have any qualms about using his new-found knowledge. 

He soon found out that Iwaizumi’s lips grew thick when he was kissed until they both were breathless, low-lidded and heavy bones insisting they gravitate towards each other. 

The rest of the night passed in a hazy sort of bliss, and Oikawa couldn't remember ever feeling so contented in his life. 

\----------------------

"Ushiwaka!" 

The ball left Oikawa's fingers, Ushijima swung, powerful and purposeful, and the side of his palm skidded past the ball, sending it off to the side, miraculously skirting past the block. It brushed off the top of the net and dropped, booming against the court. 

Oikawa grimaced, knowing full well how close that was, even as their opponents' curses rang in his ears. 

Again, and again. His hands slipped, and no matter how many times he wiped his damp palms on his shorts, the ball still winced in his hands, evading the spiker's optimal height without fail. It wouldn't stop, and the more frustrated Oikawa became, the more rebellious the ball grew, sailing merrily over the head of the tallest spikers, diving straight into the net, being trapped easily by the blockers' web. It wasn't long before the coach called a time-out. 

"Oikawa," Ushijima said, catching his shoulder, but that was as far as he got. 

Oikawa wretched his body away, twisting his mouth into a snarl. "I'm fine. You can fuck off." 

He could feel the rest of the team's gazes locked onto him, and he dragged both his hands back through his hair, facing away from them. Kageyama, in particular. He could sense his fucking innocent wonder, as to why his past senpai was so off his game. 

"Oikawa." 

The coach's voice was sharp. 

"If you don't-"

"Yeah, yeah, I fucking get it," Oikawa spat out, spinning back around. "If I don't pull my shit together, you'll swap me out for Tobio-chan, right? Fine, do it. I don't care anyways." 

Oikawa slumped down onto the bench, the exact opposite end to where Kageyama was sitting. He grabbed a water bottle and jerked up the top forcefully, his knee feeling like it was splitting apart. There was silence over the rest of the team, apart from a few, tiny whispers, utterly fearful of being overheard. 

"Hey, you mightn't just have hit your rhythm yet. Don't get so discouraged," Yaku told him, approaching him. 

"All my serves were out," Oikawa snapped back viciously. "I barely made any good tosses, and we're losing by ten points. Tell me, do you mess up that badly when you haven't 'hit your stride yet?'"

Yaku sighed. "I didn't want to mention this, but your dad is here." 

"What?" Oikawa demanded, shock slacking out his anger. "What do you mean, he's here? He hasn't been to one of my matches since second year of high school. There's no way he's-"

"Look," Yaku pointed, turning slightly and directing Oikawa's gaze to the front row behind the court. "He's right there."

And he was, gaze cold as and empty as his mother's, but worse. Because there was expectation laced through it like fine poison through finer wine, paralysing Oikawa from the inside out. 

Oikawa fell silent, his fingers clenching around the bottle. "I. Don't. Care. Put Kageyama on the court. He can watch him instead. Someone decent." 

"You are good, Oikawa. You know you're good." 

Oikawa's fingers spasmed, and a shot of water spurted out from the bottle, slamming down onto the floor by Oikawa's runner. " I told you, put him on the court!” He stood up, eyes blazing, and clenched his jaw, staring defiantly at the coach. “It’s the real reason you called a time-out, isn’t it? I’m not doing well enough, so you decided to cut your losses sooner rather than later. I don’t care if you admit it or not, just get it over with.”

Feeling the stares of many, many spectators smouldering unwelcome, itchy holes into his skin, Oikawa sat down again, teeth gritted as sweat dropped onto the court between his feet. He didn’t know why he’d expected things to be any different when he returned. It was the same as fucking always, except now his knee was royally fucked up and his father had witnessed everything. 

That’s not going to entice him to help me out with money, Oikawa thought with a grimace. 

There was a steady thrum of the team's silence, backed by the white noise of the humming crowd. Oikawa felt the seconds of the timeout tick away into indecisiveness, and the coach's hand was forced, as he knew it would be.

"Kageyama, have you warmed up properly?" 

Kageyama sprang to his feet, nodding quickly. "Of course." 

"Then get out there." 

The buzzer rang out, and there was a moment of hesitation from the team, hesitation born of seeing one of their leaders breaking, before the thunder of their runners on the shining court rose to his ears, leaving Oikawa on the bench, head bowed. He knew the pitying glances were there, but he couldn't bring himself to lift his chin and face them. He ached to be heading his team, jogging lightly onto the battlefield with a confident glint in his gaze and an unwavering belief in victory. It wasn't his team anymore. Oikawa's fingers tightened, his lips pulled white and thin across his teeth. 

The coach stood beside him. 

"Gather your head. I'm putting you in as a pinch server later." He paused. "Otherwise, you mightn't be doing anything but observing from the bench, and not just for this match." 

Oikawa's heart shook. He had to be in the match to get paid. "I'll make it," he whispered. "I'll make up for all my mistakes, I swear." 

The coach chuckled dryly. "Don't make claims you can't keep. I'll be satisfied with two points. Don't push yourself."

"I won't be satisfied until I make up for that disaster," Oikawa muttered. 

"I know. Your drive is what makes you such a good player, but you have to stop somewhere. Be satisfied. You can't be expected to keep up with geniuses like Kageyama or Hinata's indestructible mentality, but I do expect you to perform."

He was starting to piss Oikawa off further. Slamming the end of the water bottle down onto the bench, Oikawa stood up, completely ignoring the game in front of him. 

"I'm going to the bathroom," he mumbled out, not even waiting for a response before storming away. 

The coach didn't even attempt to stop him, and Oikawa's pace, despite his aching knee, was fast and unwavering. This was why he never went back to the team - all of them had matured, especially Kageyama, and Oikawa had taken a few years' break, only indulging in casual college clubs, as far from the strict coaching atmosphere of professional training as you could get. As good as he was, he was also lacking experience, and all of them knew it. Somehow, his innate sense of being able to read the other players and control the game had stayed, by some miracle, although it had faded a small bit. 

Oikawa's view of himself was far from objective. 

Reaching the bathroom, he slammed down on the tap, sending a forceful flow of water gushing down into the sink. He washed his sweat-slicked face hard, fingers engraving into every pore of his skin. 

His jaw stuck fast, rigid as his teeth unconsciously stripped the skin from his lips. Opening his eyes, he saw the tinge of orange swirling through the last of the water, and touched his lower lip. The pad of his finger came away dabbed with red. Swallowing thickly, he smeared away the thin stem of blood with the back of his hand, breathing in deeply. 

He stayed there for a few moments, simply breathing and concentrating, not even his eyelashes or fingertips giving so much as a twitch. Then he spun around and strode out of the bathroom, hands bundled up into tense fists. 

\----

He reclaimed his position on the bench after three service aces, with a less than satisfied expression. 

The coach glanced over to him, but said nothing. 

\---

They were trying their best, Oikawa knew, but somehow all of his teammates’ praise and reassurances barely made it to his ears, never mind limping its way weakly to his brain. And even if it made it to his mind, Oikawa would never believe it. 

So it was pointless, really, but it didn't stop them attempting regardless. 

Yaku was one of the most persistent, and the last to leave Oikawa alone in the locker rooms. Oikawa wasn't moving, hardly responding to any comments, just sitting there with his hands clenched tight and his jaw tighter. The thing was, Yaku wanted to stay. But Yaku had a life - he needed to be at the dentist in half an hour, and then his girlfriend would be expecting him home. 

He crouched down by Oikawa, placing a hand over his. “Oikawa? Oikawa, come on. Stop being so bloody hard on yourself for once. When you left, Kageyama still wasn't ready to play on an International level. He messed up a lot, too. You were his role model, and he couldn't read the people on the court as well as you. He still can't. You're exceptional, Oikawa.” 

To his shock, Oikawa's hazel gaze drifted absently over to him, seemingly acknowledging his words. Then he shook his head. 

“I'm nothing compared to him.” 

“You are.” 

Oikawa hesitated at Yaku’s certain words, then numbly refused them with a shake of his head. “Go. I'll be over this in a couple of hours.” 

He offered Yaku a thin, diluted smile, and Yaku straightened up. “Should I call Iwaizumi?” 

Oikawa's eyes widened, and his hands split apart, clinging onto Yaku’s shirt. “No! No, I'll be fine. Yaku, he still doesn't know I'm here and he can't know.” 

Yaku's gaze burnt into his. “Why not?” 

“He won't…” Oikawa swallowed thickly. “He knows about my knee. I know he’ll stop me from going, and then we won't have enough money for his mom’s rehab, even if I do get another job. It won't be enough.” 

Yaku sighed deeply, scratching the back of his head. “One day he's bound to find out. What are you going to do then?”

“Then I'll have enough to carry us through for at least a year, more if I start working too,” Oikawa stated determinedly. 

Yaku heaved out another sigh, checking the time on his phone. He really had to go. “If you say so. But go home now, okay? Get somebody to give you a lift - I'd drop you home, but I’m taking the bus in the opposite direction.” 

Oikawa nodded emptily, and Yaku thumped his shoulder affectionately. “I'll see you tomorrow, then.” 

“See you,” was Oikawa's calm response as Yaku padded out the door, a dim click sounded a second after. 

Once he was sure he was gone, Oikawa bent over with his head in his hands, fingers strangling his chestnut hair. He was an idiot of thinking he could compete at this level after a four year break and fucking up his knee - he couldn't even compete with Kageyama. Monday was a fluke, an utter fluke. 

His eyes caught on the gleam of glass, huddled up in a pile of old, long-forgotten training vests. 

Maybe leftover from a forgotten celebration, maybe stashed away by someone else, equally as wiped from their memory. Had he brought a bottle in today? He wouldn't put it past himself. 

His fingers twitched towards the cool glass, then furled up again jerkily. He shouldn't. He really, really shouldn't. He was still around his teammates, and he'd promised himself not to let on that anything was astray in the least - well, Oikawa thought dryly. That facade had crumbled thoroughly. What was the point of holding off until he was back home? It would help dull the pain in his knee, too. Grabbing it, Oikawa quickly checked the date, and smiled, the action feeling more like grimace on his lips. Still in date, what a piece of luck. Not that it'd make any difference if it wasn't, Oikawa thought with grim truth as he popped the top off, the gaseous sound reverberating through the room. He folded in on himself at the end of the bench, blankly chugging down the bitter liquid. 

He recalled the first time he picked up a bottle. It was a happy drink, celebrating their first time going to prefectural finals. Oikawa had no idea what was going to slam into him at that stage - he was so elated, dancing around the party on floating feet with every fond gaze locked upon him, their leader. 

The realisation smacked Oikawa in the face. Since when did he stop loving volleyball? 

_ When it started consuming you, _ a voice inside him whispered, and it wasn't a nice voice, cold and clear and certain.  _ When it stopped being a hobby and became the only way you could feel your father's love.  _

Oikawa had known these truths before now - he did not like consciously acknowledging them. 

He drank some more. 

\----

"Oikawa-san?" 

Oikawa's shoulders shot up to his ears, knowing the high-pitched, boyish voice. That damn partner of Tobio's. They always did stay late after training, damn them. 

"I know you probably don't want to be disturbed, and not now, but..." 

Oikawa turned around smoothly, hiding the bottle down by his side. The stammering ginger-headed shorty didn't seem to notice a thing, golden eyes gleaming with a youthful spirit Oikawa never failed to envy. His bright hair bounced upwards, and he spoke determinedly. 

"I think your plays are beyond amazing! Even Kageyama doesn't have the..the-" he floundered for a fitting adjective, throwing his arms up and circling them around. "His tosses are like zippy and bam, and that's great but yours are...kinder? Like SWOOSH! instead of BAM! I feel as if it's perfectly adapted to me, and I know the rest of the team feels the same too! And oh man, your serves! When you serve it's so super impressive like BOOM! and it's on the other side of the court already and everyone's like whoa did we blink but that's how fast it is! You shouldn't be so down." His gaze dropped to his fingers, twiddling nervously, and Oikawa finally realised that he was actually anxious about talking to him.

He managed a smile. "Thanks, Chibi-chan." 

His response was so short and un-Oikawa-like -well, unlike his public image - that Hinata raised his head, frowning. Oikawa made sure to keep one hand behind his back, hiding his failings. "Are you okay, Oikawa-san? Kageyama told me that your knee was damaged - is it hurting you? I think Yaku's still around here somewhere, he'd know how to wrap it-"

"No, no," Oikawa reassured him, unable to keep his voice as even and slick as he'd like. "It's fine, Hinata, really. I appreciate your concern, but it doesn't hurt." 

Not anymore at least, flitted bitterly through his mind. 

Hinata nodded, but his eyes were still uncertain. "Ok-okay. I'll go then, I guess." 

He scampered off, and Oikawa's eyes tracked his movements, agile and easy.

_ You can't compete with Hinata's indestructible mentality. _

"Shut up," Oikawa muttered, and downed another swig out of the bottle. 

He heard a flutter of light footsteps, and he sighed deeply. Why couldn’t people just leave him be? He turned his back, not even bothering to half-assedly hide the bottle in his hands. 

“I thought of something else to say,” Hinata’s voice blurted out, and Oikawa sighed again. 

“What is it?”

“You’re still the Grand King, you know,” Hinata twittered out, and Oikawa could almost see his fiddling, tiny hands. “Even if Kageyama isn’t called the King of the Court anymore, the name still suits you.”

“Yeah,” Oikawa said dully, and he gulped down another mouthful of firewater. “A grand king with a crown of shit.”

He could sense Hinata’s uncertain, surprised silence before it actually occurred, a long stretch of seconds where Hinata was too uncomfortable to say anything and too awkward to leave, and where Oikawa didn’t give a single flying fuck if he left or not. 

“Hinata!” a demanding voice barked, and confident, striding footsteps entered the room. “Where the hell did you go? We need to go over-”

The footsteps pulled up short, and Oikawa allowed himself a grim little smile, spinning around on the end of the bench to face both Kageyama and Hinata, a bottle flashing in hand and alcohol flaring in his widened eyes. Kageyama licked his lips, and his foot wavered, wanting to step back. 

“Oikawa-san?”

His voice was small, and Oikawa grinned. 

“Hello, Tobio-chan. What’s wrong? Didn’t you come to collect our beloved little fireball of a spiker? Take him! What’s stopping you?” Oikawa challenged, waving his free hand in the air, the edge in his voice sharp enough to cut right through glass. 

Hinata blinked, incomprehension shining through his eyes, so clear, so easy to see. It nearly made Oikawa want to hurl something at him. He couldn’t fucking stand being looked at like that. What was he, a fucking pity-funnel? Everyone wanted to pour their compassionate feelings of empathy down his damn throat. He didn’t want them. Hinata was so straightforward, so innocent, so unknowing, that he - he -

He hated it. 

“Hinata,” Kageyama said, grasping his arm. “We should go.”

Hinata didn’t move. “Do you need help, Oikawa-san?”

“Don’t you get the message?!” Oikawa snapped out, voice rising into a thunderstorm, and he got to his feet. “Leave me alone!”

His arms jerked downwards violently, his shaky fingers slipped on the smooth glass, and the glittering sound of the bottle clashing against the floor made all of them flinch. Oikawa swallowed, his voice trickling down to a whisper.

“Leave me alone.”

Hinata’s gaze was glued to the tiny smithereens of green splattered all over the cold lino, liquid seeping out from the centre of the mess. Kageyama tugged firmly on his arm, hissing something under his breath that Oikawa couldn’t hear. He wasn’t sure if Hinata heard it either, but his head raised up again, and the instant their gazes met a strikingly disturbing shiver bolted up Oikawa’s spine. Hinata’s eyes no longer had any trace of pity in them, golden and round and sparking up with an intense, stone-cold curiosity. Oikawa’s chest tightened, and he shook his head as if at an empty question. He was the one who stepped back, and Kageyama yanked on Hinata’s arm almost desperately. 

“Hinata, let’s go!”

Hinata nodded slowly. Oikawa’s lips stretched tight over his teeth, barely daring to breathe in the dense air. The duo exited swiftly, Oikawa's tense shoulders only dropping when the sound of their footsteps faded out into the hallway connecting the gym and changing rooms. Dragging a hand back through his hair, he looked down at the mess on the floor, and sighed. 

“Great fucking job as always,” Oikawa muttered to himself, bending down to his gearbag. 

Oikawa dug through his bag and caught a packet and a lighter in his hands. He lit one up unsteadily, disregarding the fact that he shouldn’t be smoking here, and allowed himself a lengthy inhale, closing his eyes briefly. He tried to shake off the image of Hinata’s all-consuming gaze, the endless hungry potential threading through his greedy eyes, but it stuck stubbornly. 

Oikawa exhaled, and the grey cloud dissipated sluggishly in front of his eyes, loitering and listless.

That kid scared him. 

\--

Iwaizumi staggered up the stairs wearily, moulding the heels of his palms against his eyes, causing black spots to splatter in his blank vision. Of course the lift wasn't fucking working. A perfect end to a goddamn perfect day.  His mother wasn't recovering as the staff had hoped, and no matter how softly Yachi broke the news and how supportive Hiroka was being, it still frustrated them both. Iwaizumi knew that, no matter how angry he was, his mother would be doubly so, maybe even ashamed. She hated pity as much as Hajime did, loathed feeling useless, and those seemed to be the only emotions that were filtering through lately.

At least Iwaizumi had a purpose, a job to support her - but she herself was helpless. She'd cried today again, and Hajime with her. If Shou had survived, they could've shared the burden of funding, and maybe Iwaizumi could've put Shou through college, earning more in a better job and freeing up time to spend with his mother. If, if. Iwaizumi was sick of ifs, but he couldn't stop himself wondering. If there was a parallel universe with that reality, that Iwaizumi Hajime was one lucky bastard, he thought miserably, trudging up the last of the steps to Oikawa's floor.  

The door was ajar, and Iwaizumi's heart flung itself up into his mouth. Quickly striding up and slipping inside the apartment, he almost called out, then thought better of it. What if burglars were sneaking through the rooms right now? Iwaizumi took a step forward, scanning around him, and frowned. Nothing seemed out of place. Padding into the sitting room, he saw the few empty bottles - one or two cracked - strewn across the table and sighed. His heart didn't settle down, however, despite guessing that it wasn't what had happened to him - not a robbery, only Oikawa uncaring about his own safety. Iwaizumi's head whipped around, a new fear striking him. What if Oikawa had gone out? He didn't want him out like that, drunk and vulnerable.

“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi called out, not expecting an answer. This was seeming to become a routine thing. If Oikawa was out, or drunk, or asleep, or anything other than sober, awake and not moody, he wouldn't reply. 

He didn't get one, and Iwaizumi cursed aloud, striding quickly into the kitchen. Yet again, glass was sprinkled along the edges of the counter, and Iwaizumi's mouth tightened. There didn't seem to be as much here as in the living room, but it was still enough to twist thorny stems around Iwaizumi's veins. He spun around, and headed to the bedroom, barely keeping down panic. 

Save the panic until you get to the bedroom and he isn't there, Iwaizumi told himself grimly. 

But once Iwaizumi opened their bedroom door, he was hit in the face with a wall of smoke. Coughing harshly, Iwaizumi stepped in further, and thank fuck, Oikawa was there on the bed, cigarette lolling from between two loose fingers and a bottle perched beside him. His back was to the wall, watching Iwaizumi approach him with a slow drag and a thick, slitted gaze. Arms slung over his bent knees, he flicked his wrist, and ash dusted the sheets, drifting down like particles of chemical dust after a nuclear strike. 

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi sighed out, letting out a loaded breath as he scanned over him, checking for any injuries. 

Once he knew that Oikawa wasn't in any immediate danger, the adrenaline of worry vanished, and Iwaizumi was left with the weariness and frustration from the day, highlighted by the fact that now, he had to take care of Oikawa on top of everything. With a heavy sigh, he flopped down beside him, almost tempted to take a swig out of the bottle himself. He coughed dryly, and Oikawa's gaze rotated towards him, observing for a moment before stubbing the cigarette out on the bedside table. 

"Thanks," Iwaizumi said, still trying to judge exactly how drunk Oikawa was. 

"I know what you're thinking, Iwa-chan," Oikawa told him, gripping the bottle closely. "And I've only started drinking."

Something about the way he bowed his head made Iwaizumi suspect otherwise. And yet Oikawa's tolerance was so high, he had no idea how much he could drink before actually getting drunk. Iwaizumi soundlessly held out his hand, and there was a number of seconds where Oikawa refused to meet his eyes, hands tightening around the glass. Iwaizumi's open palm didn't waver. Eventually, Oikawa let out a breath and handed it over. Under Oikawa's wide eyes, Iwaizumi brought it up to his lips and downed some, eyes shutting to appreciate the dark burn. 

"Bad day?" Oikawa asked quietly. 

Iwaizumi opened his eyes to dimly stare at his shoes. "Yeah." 

"Join the fucking club." 

This time, Oikawa's tongue seemed to stumble, his words slurring together just a fraction. Iwaizumi shifted his gaze to his lips, watching how he licked them. 

"How many have you had?" 

Oikawa dragged his palms down his face, half-heartedly mumbling something which sounded like, "Not a lot." 

Iwaizumi took another gulp from the bottle in hand before speaking. "If I have to count up all the empty bottles in the house, I will. Don't lie to me." 

"Hypocrite," Oikawa muttered, dulled brown eyes only slits as he followed the movement of the alcohol down Iwaizumi's throat. 

"Sure, call me that. I don't care." Iwaizumi kicked off his shoes violently, and his gaze hooked on a sprinkling of glass and ash, mingled into the floorboards. "You're not drinking any more though." 

"Oh, really?" Oikawa drawled back, his eyes narrowing further. "Is that so?" 

His voice held an obvious challenge, and Iwaizumi's temper rose. 

"Yes," he snapped back, spinning to face Oikawa. "You're done." 

"Am I, now?" 

Oikawa's calm voice had a vicious edge to it, and Iwaizumi swallowed with difficulty, trying to shake away the foreboding feeling.

"Look," he began, sensing he should be more diplomatic. "If you've had a bad day, we can talk about it. You don't need to resort to alcohol." 

"I disagree," Oikawa told him flatly, fingers clinging onto strands of his hair. "I think you underestimate the comfort of being numb." 

"It's a comfort that only brings temporary relief," Iwaizumi answered surely, examining the bottle in his hands with a sort of sad remembrance. "It only makes everything worse afterwards. You know I'm right." 

"What do you know?" Oikawa challenged. 

Iwaizumi lifted his gaze. "Did I not tell you? I drank, too. After the car crash. Far too much. I probably shouldn't be tasting this at all, in case I fall back into old habits." 

"That doesn't give you the right to order me about," Oikawa fired back, but his tone had lost the sharp undercurrent. 

"It's just advice," Iwaizumi said simply, and he lay the bottle aside with a sigh. 

Oikawa took hold of it again, and Iwaizumi's lips pressed together tightly. 

"Oh, don't look so worried," Oikawa chided, raising the top to his lips. "I can stop anytime I want." 

"That's a lie," Iwaizumi mumbled, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. "Stop now, then." 

"I don't want to," Oikawa told him starkly, tilting his head back and letting the liquid flow freely down his throat. 

Iwaizumi was tired. He wanted to eat, then curl up with Oikawa and sleep. Dragging his palms down his face, he tried to dredge up the motivation to say something, do something, anything to stop Oikawa's ceaseless intake of poison. What, then? What was he supposed to do? Forcefully tear it from his fingertips? If Oikawa wanted to get drunk, he would get drunk, be it from buying some more, producing it from a hidden stash, or perhaps simply just taking it back before Iwaizumi could get rid of it. 

He was tired, and he didn't know what to do.

When Iwaizumi's hands left his face, he saw Oikawa staring at him, gaze blank and illegible. Soundlessly, he held out the bottle, offering. Iwaizumi took it. 

Oikawa, stumbling over his feet just a little, left the room. Iwaizumi looked at the bottle in his hands, almost a third full, clear, glittering glass, classy label, well-marketed brand, slow-acting toxin swishing around at the bottom. It looked so harmless, just like a river's glimmering waters at night. Something so pretty couldn't possibly drown someone, not a human being. 

Of course, it didn't. The person did that themselves, when they fell in. Is it really the river's fault for doing what it always does, ebbing and flowing, flooding lungs, currents wrapping around any object - careless litter, unloved dolls, trolley carts, a thrashing leg - and carrying it down to the sick, sick mud at the bottom? 

The river itself is blameless.

Iwaizumi was still staring at the bottle when Oikawa returned, grasping a fresh round of drowning - drowning from the inside out - in his hand. Oikawa's silence broke a few minutes later, when he started giggling to himself, eyes reflecting light eerily like shattered glass does. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when I said shit would go down in 15 I didn't plan for my grossly overdetailed chapters it's sixteen now rip  
> I wasn't gonna hit ya'll with a 40k chapter after a two month break  
> speaking of, next chapter will be out in a couple of days, I had to go eleven days without wifi and I just wrote the entire time  
> (i said i would update in february and i fuckin' did call me the ed sheeran of fanfic)


	16. trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oiks gets some sense knocked into him, kindaichi has yet another gay crisis but luckily uncle iwa is here to help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: mentions of past abuse  
> it's much shorter this time, 10k.

Oikawa talked when drunk.

The first stage, Iwaizumi recognised.

He blathered on about nothing, absolutely nothing, spouting words that weren't even good for filling in silence. It all blended into white noise, only static, a purposeless blur to Iwaizumi's ears. It only paused when Oikawa left for another dosage, and resumed the instant his foot was in the door.

Iwaizumi himself was taking it slow, having enough sense to know that if he went at the pace Oikawa was, he'd be inebriated in no time at all. He was still swigging from the same bottle Oikawa had handed to him, now only about an eighth full. Oikawa was on his...second? Third? Iwaizumi didn't know.

Dimly, Iwaizumi was aware of Oikawa's meaningless chatter fading, becoming more and more sullen beside him, pinpoint-perfect posture slouching over, hands dredging back wearily through light brown locks. Stage two, he recalled as he knocked back some more, grimacing at the burning trail it left down his throat. He should step in now, before it got any worse. Take the bottle away from him. Iwaizumi made no attempt to move or slice into the hanging silence, for a long heartbeat.

With a deep sigh, he lowered the bottle in his hand, and reached across, stretching to Oikawa's hand slung across his knee clasping the cool neck. Oikawa's eyes cracked open, lashes casting dark, dark shadows on his cheeks, sensing Iwaizumi's intentions. He turned towards him, expression unreadable, even for Iwaizumi. The knowledge shocked him a little, the realisation that he couldn't pry into Oikawa's thoughts, plug into his feelings, when he was like this. However, in the next second, Oikawa made his intentions pretty clear.

With a clunk, the bottle dropped to the floor from Oikawa's fingertips, spilling clear liquid out over the floor, seeping into the cracks, yet Iwaizumi was barely aware of this because Oikawa's forceful lips were on his now, sweet and intoxicating. The kiss was hard, Oikawa's tense fingers curling up in Iwaizumi's hair, breath sinking heavy into his lungs. Oikawa parted Iwaizumi's lips, pressing closer, hand on his upper thigh and tongue pursuing his. The purposefulness of the kiss had turned into relentlessness, Oikawa's lips sloppy and stinking of liquor, causing Iwaizumi's temples to pound and his blood throb just underneath his skin. Like a junkie craving his next hit, Iwaizumi returned his actions with power and precision, hands grabbing blindly onto any bit of Oikawa they could find - clothing, hair, skin - and wretched him closer, until everything was hot and breathless and muddled and god, Iwaizumi hadn't realised how much he needed this.

Their mouths broke apart for a moment, gasping in air in hurried gulps. Oikawa looked an absolute mess, with his hair tangled, sticking up everywhere from Iwaizumi's fingers, reddened cheeks flushed with alcohol and exhilaration, and to his relief, Iwaizumi could read his expression. And so, he wasn't surprised when Oikawa's half-lidded eyes roamed lower, hands shoving Iwaizumi onto his back and rendering him motionless with his body. He captured Hajime in another smothering kiss, and his thighs slunk up around his hips, lifting himself up so his slender fingers could clumsily detangle the front of Iwaizumi’s jeans. Iwaizumi’s hands dove up under Oikawa's shirt, palms worshipping his lean build as Oikawa's skin broke out in goosebumps, cold air surging onto his skin, shirt rucked up all around his chest from Iwaizumi’s hands. Oikawa kissed him as if his life depended on it, hard and passionately, one hand lifting to grip Iwaizumi’s short hair tightly.

Iwaizumi felt the tips of his fingers lightly ghost down underneath his waistband, stroking down the sensitive parts beneath. The touch felt good, and Iwaizumi was responding, hips arching upwards, even before warning lights began flashing. Oikawa was drunk, very drunk, and so was he, although nowhere near as badly.

"Wait," Iwaizumi gasped out against Oikawa's lips. "Not while drunk."

Oikawa stared at him for a number of weighted moments, then spoke, speech slowed and slurred slightly. "It makes no difference."

He leaned forward again, this time mouthing Iwaizumi's neck roughly, and it felt delicious, but, in all morality, Iwaizumi would never fuck someone while they're drunk. Closing his eyes to steel his resolve, Iwaizumi grasped the back of Oikawa's neck and dragged him back as gently as he could. Oikawa simply stared down at him, eyes blank as Iwaizumi sat up sluggishly. "Oik-" Oikawa's mouth was covering his again before he could say any more, and if he was hungry before, now he was ravenous, starving for a taste of Hajime, biting his lower lip, leaving it swollen and red behind him.

"It's fine," he murmured indistinctly. "I know I'm drunk, and I don't care. I want you, now. I can't wait until I sober up."

This declaration was coupled with the deft undoing of Iwaizumi's fly, fingers smoothly sliding down against skin to rub him lightly. Iwaizumi's moan was travelling past his lips before he could help himself, Oikawa's fingers were cool, dancing down his sensitive skin, doing all the right things. Iwaizumi had no idea how Oikawa had learned what he liked so quickly, but he wasn't complaining.

Wait, Iwaizumi thought as Oikawa's lips latched onto his, slowing his mind down, I am complaining. We're both drunk, and this isn't right.

"St.." Iwaizumi mumbled out, words seeming unnecessary with Oikawa's mouth on his, sending his head spinning with the taste of grainy smoke and bitter liquor. "Stop. You're too drunk."

Oikawa paused, his hand slipping out of Iwaizumi's boxers and lips lifting up incredulously off of Iwaizumi's skin as he sat back into his lap, gazing down at him. Iwaizumi's heart squeezed tight in his chest. He had that walled expression on again, the impenetrable one of iron blankness. Iwaizumi couldn't tell what he was going to do.

"Why not."

The question was flat and toneless, and Iwaizumi swallowed, disquiet rising in him. "I don't like it. I feel like I'm taking advantage of you."

Oikawa's eyes, clouded by the heavy grasp of liquor, ran over Iwaizumi's body, finally meeting his gaze again. "Lots of people have fucked me while I was drunk," he said carefully. "It doesn't matter."

Iwaizumi held his gaze steadily, saying the first response that popped into his mind. "I want to respect you more than that."

"I don't deserve it," Oikawa muttered darkly, climbing unsteadily off of Iwaizumi and scooping up the half-empty bottle on the floor. He tilted his head back and downed the rest in rapid-paced gulps, Iwaizumi's hands much too far away to yank it from his grip. Iwaizumi sat up, the front of his jeans unzipped and the hem of his boxers shoved down, and attempted to get through to him.

"Oikawa, please. Stop drinking."

Oikawa hesitated, lowering the bottle, but, to his despair, Iwaizumi saw that it was already drained. Oikawa didn't even turn his head, gaze flickering down to regard Iwaizumi coldly, and Iwaizumi's gut twisted. He knew, even before Oikawa's arm pulled back carelessly, even before the bottle smashed against the wall, that this was the Oikawa who had wrecked the apartment, the bitter side of him who had been capable of lashing out at others. His reasons for rejecting Oikawa hadn't mattered in the least. He'd hurt him, and that hurt had been too easy to convert into anger.

"Toor-" Iwaizumi said, but his voice was choked and like he was trying to speak around a rock crammed into his throat. Oikawa simply walked out of the room, his controlled calmness unsettling Iwaizumi even more.

Buckling up his jeans quickly, Iwaizumi rose and scrambled after him, somehow very glad that he didn't drink very much. A shiver ran up his spine at the possibility of both of them being out of their skulls. He wasn't exactly the best drunk either, and he would've - Iwaizumi banished the notion from his mind on reflex. There wasn't time for pondering over the worst. He was ready to rip another bottle from Oikawa's hands, but he wasn't drinking. He was just standing there, and it scared Iwaizumi, his still body. A weight pressed down on his chest, and Iwaizumi's tongue turned to lead in his mouth, watching Oikawa's glossy eyes skip over him with no trace of recognition. A shudder jolted through Iwaizumi's body, and he suddenly wished that Oikawa was drinking more. He'd know what to do then.

"Tooru, come on. Let's go to bed," he said lamely, for lack of anything else to suggest. Oikawa's gaze drifted over to him, and the act of complete serenity struck Iwaizumi as dangerous.

He suddenly understood why Kyoutani had backed away the first time he'd met him.

"I don't feel like it..." Oikawa spoke slow, cautious, as if he was choosing his words very, very consciously indeed. "I don't really feel anything, Hajime. I thought I liked it when I'm numb, but it turns out that I - I don't think-"

His voice fell apart, and the image of calmness cracked right open, the deafening rattle of Oikawa's foot ramming into the cabinet freezing Iwaizumi to the spot. Oikawa screamed, hoarse and jarring, and if it was a cry of pain, or frustration, or both, Iwaizumi couldn't tell, but it shocked him into acting. He was at Oikawa's side before he knew it, one arm circling his shoulders, forcefully rotating him away from the cabinet. His hands clamped down onto his slightly taller shoulders, and Oikawa's fractured eyes met his, misty and desperate. Not a word passed between them, yet Oikawa began struggling viciously, almost tearing himself free of Iwaizumi's grip. Iwaizumi only dug his fingers in more, the force required to stop Oikawa from breaking away undoubtedly leaving marks, the deep purple bruises that hurt for weeks afterwards. Oikawa pounded his fists against his chest, and it hurt, but the fear of Oikawa fleeing only made Iwaizumi draw him closer.

“Tooru! Tooru, listen to me, for fuck’s sake!” Iwaizumi was shouting, a fact he’d only be informed of later.

“Go away!” Oikawa demanded, jerkily trying to wrench Iwaizumi’s fingers off of his shoulders. “Can’t you see I don’t want you to be here right now? Leave me alone!”

Iwaizumi forgot about Matsukawa's warning to weather it out. He was never one to bury his head in the sand and shrink away from trouble, and this was no different. He'd face this storm head-on, like he always did. He wasn't sure why Oikawa was acting like this, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let him get away with destroying himself and everything around him, and if he had to go beyond tender, coddling words, then so be it. Because words weren't getting through to him, Iwaizumi saw that much clearly. He saw Oikawa's hand snake out sideways and clasp around a glass lying on the counter, drawing his arm back as if to launch it at Hajime, maybe clatter it over his skull. 

If he didn't stop him somehow, Iwaizumi knew that at least one of them was going to get injured. He'd be fine with it if he was certain it would only be himself, but Oikawa was so self-destructive...

"Get away from me!" Oikawa shouted, lips curled back in a defensive snarl. The instant his fiery eyes met Iwaizumi's equally stubborn ones, his arm stilled, hesitating.

Rage surged up in Iwaizumi, and he grabbed the front of Oikawa's stupid check shirt, shaking the glass out of his grip and angling back his head. Smashing his forehead straight into Oikawa's, the combined noise of the thunk and Oikawa's tiny gasp of shock shot into Iwaizumi's ears. Gritting his teeth, he kept going with the flow of his anger, bundling Oikawa's clothing up tightly in his fists, preventing him from toppling backwards. Oikawa's dazed eyes found his, arms swaying by his sides but his gaze was locked on Iwaizumi, as if processing what just happened. He wore the same numb expression as he did before Iwaizumi hit him, and a fresh surge of intense irritation swelled up in him.

"I'm here!" he found himself yelling out, mere centimetres away from Oikawa's shocked face. "I'm here to fucking stay, so stop saying that you want me to go! I'm not going to, so shut up about it already, dumbass! I don't care if you're drunk, just remember that much and I'll be happy!" Iwaizumi cut himself off there, breathing heavily as he noticed a trickle of red dribbling down from Oikawa's nose over his lips.

"Ah, fuck," he muttered, dropping his gaze uncomfortably. "I shouldn't have hit you that hard." He released Oikawa's shirt slowly, taking a measured step back, suddenly worried about his actions. Was that too far?

Before he knew it, the entire side of his face was numb, his head turned to the side, and he blinked. Oh. Oikawa had slapped him.

"Damn right you hit me too hard," Oikawa said, and he let out a warbling laugh, a little bit unsteady, but that was okay. The blankness of his gaze was gone, and his emotions were once again visible to Iwaizumi, who cracked a relieved smile. "I suppose I deserved that."

He rubbed the side of his face, marvelling at how much it stung, and made a note to never get on Oikawa's bad side.

"Well..." Oikawa began slowly, smearing the crimson across his cheek with the back of his hand. "I probably deserved that too. I still want to smash up the apartment though. Or hit something. Are you sure you wouldn't miss a few plates?"

"You already slapped me. Isn't that enough?"

"I suppose it'll have to do," Oikawa sighed out tragically.  "Thanks, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi narrowed his eyes, folding his arms over his chest. "That doesn't sound like you. Are you sure you don't have a concussion?"

Oikawa blurted out another tottering laugh, staring down at the blood drying across his hand. "It's just because I still feel drunk and I'm saying exactly what's on my mind, you silly man. Now come here, I want a kiss."

He held out his arms, and Iwaizumi frowned, eyes tracing over the red dabbed on his lips before sighing and reaching into his pocket for a tissue. "I'm not kissing you when you have blood all over your mouth. It's gross."

"You're the reason it's there in the first place," Oikawa pointed out merrily, shooting Iwaizumi a coy grin as Iwaizumi brushed the tissue across his needlessly puckered lips, chin grasped in his hand.

"Shut up," Iwaizumi muttered. "I couldn't think of any other way of getting you to snap out of it."

Oikawa's eyes darted sideways, hand resting lightly on Iwaizumi's wrist. "I've never calmed down that quickly," he admitted slowly. "Maybe I need a smack every now and then. That's what my father used to say, and I'm starting to think he was right."

Oikawa only became aware of Iwaizumi's pause in his movements a few seconds after he'd stopped.

"Did I say something?"

"Your dad hit you?"

Oikawa shrugged. "Sometimes. When he was home. It wasn't a big deal, just a few slaps here and there when I mouthed off."

But enough, Iwaizumi wanted to say. Enough that it's ingrained in your mind, the example burned there forever.

"Have you ever thought," Iwaizumi started carefully. "That that's maybe the reason you lashed out at Kageyama?"

Oikawa blinked. "What do you mean?"

"It's hard to break habits you grow up with and seeing," Iwaizumi explained, hoping Oikawa was sober enough to grasp the concept. "Maybe you subconsciously decided to-"

"Okay, okay, I can't handle big, three-siable words like that right now," Oikawa proclaimed, all seriousness wiped off his face as he giggled.

"Do you mean syllable?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's the word!" Oikawa nodded vigorously, and Iwaizumi lowered his hand, Oikawa's skin mostly clear of the crusty blood. "Can I get my kiss now?"

With a curt nod, Iwaizumi held Oikawa's face in his hands softly, and bent forwards. Like always, he had to tilt his face upwards to reach Oikawa's lips, but this time Oikawa met him halfway, ducking his head down lightly, eyes drifting shut. Their lips touched, paused, then moved with a chaste reverence, Oikawa's hands linking together warmly against the small of Iwaizumi's back.  The kiss tasted mainly of alcohol, mingled with some subtle tones of Oikawa's blood, and just a hint of smoke.

Oikawa's quiet, content sigh floated over to Iwaizumi. "I like kissing you," Oikawa said. "I don't think I've ever liked kissing someone this much. Even if your lips are in an awful condition."

"Sorry that I don't have time to moisture or whatever you do to get yours so soft," Iwaizumi retorted back grumpily, before he realised he'd actually complimented Oikawa. Oh well.

Oikawa raised a hand to his mouth in mock surprise, then smirked. “I know. I'd kiss myself if I could. You're welcome, by the way, for such a pleasant experience.”

“It'd be more pleasant if you shut those lips every once in a damn while,” Iwaizumi replied, thinking that it would be more pleasant if he didn't taste of heavy smoke and alcohol.

“You're so mean to me sometimes,” Oikawa complained, then he grinned crookedly, flopping forwards into Iwaizumi. “Stop being so mean to me, Iwa-chan. I'll tell on you to your mom.”

“I'm sure she'd agree that you deserve it,” Iwaizumi murmured back into Oikawa's hair, rubbing a circle on his back.

“Liar. She adores me.”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi told him, unable to summon up any real heat to his voice.

He pressed his lips to the top of his head, hearing Oikawa’s responding, gentle hum of satisfaction.

“I dunno if it's from the alcohol or your lame speech or from slapping you, but…”

Iwaizumi had to crane his head to the side to pick up on Oikawa's mumbling.

“I feel invincible,” Oikawa finished, broad eyes upturning towards him, bright and brown and awestruck.

Iwaizumi grunted awkwardly. “Alcohol, definitely.”

He was greeted with Oikawa's light laughter against his chest, causing it to feel suspended somehow, the manifestation of a winged child springing happily along from cloud to cloud. Then Oikawa's face was up close to his, so close, and once again intoxicated lips were cradling his.

“Y’know,” Oikawa mentioned thickly when they parted for air, lips reddened and voice low, “I'd totally give you a blowjob right now. As long as you wash first. Maybe in the shower. I'd like to see you in the shower, I bet you'd-”

Iwaizumi pressed a finger over Oikawa's drunk mouth, diminishing his words to nothing but incoherent mumbles.

“I'm going to stop you there, before you say something you regret.”

“I'm not gonna regret anything I say,” Oikawa protested heatedly, ripping Iwaizumi’s hand away from his mouth. “I'd say anything to you while sober...I think. Probably anything. Most of anything. Things in general?”

Oikawa's nose crinkled up, and Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow. “I'm surprised it took you that long to confuse yourself.”

“I'm not confused!” Oikawa defended himself with a haughty upturn of his nose. “I know exactly what it's going about.”

“You know exactly what's going on or what you're talking about?”

“Both!” Oikawa claimed strongly. “So I put them both into one sentence - deliberately of course!”

“You're an idiot.” Iwaizumi smiled, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the corner of Oikawa's mouth. “Come on. Let's sit down and watch something until you sober up.”

Oikawa, surprisingly, didn't protest as Iwaizumi slipped his hand down into his and tugged him along into the sitting room, eying the split bottles. He decided to deal with the fallout later, turning to face Oikawa, who was staring at the wreckage with an expression that was bordering dangerously on cracking open. Iwaizumi lifted a hand and grasped his angular chin, rotating his face away.

“Don't look at that. I'll clean it up later,” he told him firmly, and Oikawa, despite his eyes creasing up, nodded bravely.

“What do you want to watch?” Iwaizumi asked him, pulling him cautiously down onto the couch beside him. “Something alien-related, I assume?”

Oikawa shrugged nonchalantly, and Iwaizumi's heart plunged deep into icy water. His brief relapse of good humour seemed to have perished when he'd seen what he'd done, the pitiful remains of the emptied bottles he'd thrown earlier splattered all over the floor. Iwaizumi saw his eyes ghosting over to the glittering glass, and he moved on the couch, trying to block his view the best he could.

“Tooru,” he stalled, attempting to think of how he could distract him. The bedroom was out - the mess there was at least equal to this, if not more, and he didn't want to bring Oikawa out like this. Iwaizumi reached out a hand and gripped Oikawa's. “Look at me.”

Oikawa's eyelashes flicked over to him, and Iwaizumi wet his lips. “Movie?” He suggested weakly, and Oikawa's answering shrug, hardly making a movement with his skinny shoulder, caused Iwaizumi’s heart to clench.

He had no other plan to distract him.

Fuck it.  

Iwaizumi leaned forwards and rested his lips against Oikawa's. He didn't respond, and Iwaizumi fell back after a second, lowering his face.

“Sorry-”

He was cut off by Oikawa launching himself at him, arms winding him somewhat as they gripped around his torso closely, tight and constricting. Oikawa pressed the side of his face to Iwaizumi's chest, and Iwaizumi was certain he must be able to hear the heated pulsing of his heart. Iwaizumi lowered himself back slowly, settling Oikawa on his chest, the rest of his body trailing down between his legs. He softly carded his fingers through those uniquely arranged strands, an entrancing shade of brown, like the fresh growth of a young branch.

Oikawa closed his eyes.

“Your heartbeat sounds so warm,” he murmured, and poor Iwaizumi’s heartbeat only sped up more. “Safe.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes sought out the smashed sparkles on the floor, against his will.

“Yeah,” he agreed faintly, his voice not as steady as he'd like. “You're safe with me.”

If Oikawa heard the uncertainty in his voice, he didn't show it.

\-------

Oikawa fell asleep faster than Iwaizumi expected. They'd barely spoken a word after moving to the couch, and Iwaizumi was growing weary of being confined to his own head. He should've done so many things better

_for Oikawa_

_-_ so many things he could've done

_for him_

\- so many failings. All in the past, all unreachable and unchangeable.

Iwaizumi hated thinking about things he couldn't alter.

He glanced at the clock. It wasn't late enough to go to bed, and he didn't think he'd be able to sleep, but Oikawa was already gone, his breathing subtle and almost invisible against his chest. There was only a slight warmth where the side of his mouth was meeting Iwaizumi's shirt, and he was pretty sure that it was from drool.

Oikawa's breath, like his hands, was always cold.

Iwaizumi knew that couldn't really be the case - cold breath was a sign of the dying, and frankly impossible - but it sure felt that way. He shifted slightly - judging how deep Oikawa was in his dreams, how much manoeuvring he could get away with - and Oikawa didn't react. Sighing in relief, Iwaizumi sat up, slow and deliberate, although his torso was protesting with the weight of Oikawa on it. Carefully - always cautious, always careful - Iwaizumi managed to gather Oikawa's lengthy limbs into some sort of arrangement he could work with, then scooped him up, chests together and hands looped underneath his thighs.

Oikawa's forehead was disturbingly frigid on his shoulder as Iwaizumi made his way to the bedroom, correcting his steps to no more than gentle swaying motions. Oikawa never gave any signs of waking, and he didn't, not even when Iwaizumi tucked in the bedsheets underneath his chin.

“I suppose you can't be awkward all the time,” Iwaizumi teased him quietly, fingertips ghosting down the side of his cheek before straightening.

No, he wouldn't be able to sleep.

Iwaizumi spent the next four hours cleaning the entire apartment, and he never heard a peep from Oikawa the entire night. He was unsure if this was a good or bad thing, but he eventually decided on good. If there was one thing Oikawa needed, it was a decent sleep.

It occurred to him around twelve that neither of them had eaten anything. Frowning, he placed a hand over his stomach, but, despite not being fed since lunchtime - nearly twelve hours ago - it gave no indication of wanting any nourishment. Iwaizumi shrugged and kept sweeping up the miniscule shards of glass. He didn't feel like eating anyway.

He returned to the bedroom at two am, and wrapped himself up in Oikawa's cold comfort.

\-----------------

"I've this morning free," Iwaizumi yawned out, sleepily flopping over onto his other side to face Oikawa, draping an arm around his waist. "We could do something, if you want."

Oikawa's eyelids fluttered open, eyes a slow, hazy brown as he regarded Iwaizumi, lazily lifting a hand to trace his finger across his lips softly.

Mutually agreeing not to discuss yesterday.

"You're cute when you're sleepy," passed his lips, and he smiled, an uneven, tiny parting of his mouth. Iwaizumi's heart throbbed fast in his chest.

The blinds weren't open, the room was still dark, and yet Oikawa shone. If Iwaizumi gazed for too long, he felt like the bright image of this moment would be seared into his memory forever, burnt into the inside of his eyelids.

He didn't look away. He already saw Oikawa when he shut his eyes.

Iwaizumi was taking too long to respond, and Oikawa tapped his forehead impatiently, clicking his tongue. "Earth to Hajime, this is a request to engage in conversation with Oikawa. Firing up all two brain cells in three...two..."

"Alright, alright, no need to be so mean," Iwaizumi sighed out, clasping Oikawa's hand and lowering it to the mattress. "You haven't answered me, by the way."

Oikawa chewed his lower lip, ducking his face. "I can't. I've got work in the morning."

"Oh." Iwaizumi tried not to let his disappointment show through. "Alright. Maybe another time, then. Tell me when you're free next."

"I will," Oikawa promised, gaze dropping to their joined hands, swiping his thumb over Iwaizumi's gently. "We can finally have a proper second date then, Iwa-chan. There's this new film out that I'd love to sit in the back of and fling popcorn at people."

He grinned widely, and Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. "You're such an asshole."

"But I'm your asshole," Oikawa countered, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Quite literally. Stick your dick in me whenever you want."  

Iwaizumi choked on pure embarrassment, sinking his reddened cheeks into the pillow. Oikawa's airy laughter met his crimson ears, and he lifted his head up slightly to glower at him out of the side of his eye. "I take it back. You're a filthy asshole."

Oikawa winked at him. "Again, I'm your-"

Iwaizumi clapped a hand over his mouth, much to Oikawa's dismay. "Alright, alright, I get it!"

"I don't think you do," came Oikawa's muffled voice, getting spit all over Iwaizumi's palm.

"Shut up about assholes," Iwaizumi told him, withdrawing his hand and wiping it on the sheets with a scowl.

"What? But you're the one who keeps bringing them up," Oikawa replied lightly, innocently. His smile turned to a smirk as he continued, "And if you really want me to shut up, you're going to have to make me."

"That's emotional blackmail," Iwaizumi stated, prodding his finger against Oikawa's chest. "Playing dirty."

"I do like playing dirty," Oikawa admitted, coupled with another sly wink. "Especially with you."

"Then I'm going to play dirty too."

That was the only warning Oikawa got before Iwaizumi threw back the rest of the sheets, Oikawa squawking out his protests as the freezing air hit bare skin. Then Iwaizumi had swung a leg over his waist, pinning him down with his body as his hands reached for Oikawa's sensitive sides. Oikawa figured out what he was planning to do a second before Iwaizumi's fingertips brushed down his torso, hands scrabbling to try and dislodge him from his lap.

"Hajime, please," he begged, slapping his hands away from his skin and squirming underneath him. "Not this - this is below the belt! I'm sure this is against the rules of warfare and probably the laws of morality and every religion ever -"

"Sure, sure," Iwaizumi grinned out, leaning over him, grasping Oikawa's wrists in one hand and forcing them above his head.

"This is too far," Oikawa announced righteously, twisting and thrashing in an attempt to throw him off. "If you do this, I'm refusing to - to speak to you! Or something! My revenge will be extreme," he warned, but Iwaizumi's mischievous grin only grew.

"Really, now? What can you do?"

"I'll hate you for the rest of my life," Oikawa declared, watching with horror as Iwaizumi's free hand inched closer to his vulnerable sides. "If there's one thing I excel at, it's holding a grudge. I will hold this over you until you die, and even then I'll probably write it on your gravestone, just because."

"Mm, I'm still not convinced," Iwaizumi murmured, his wide grin only inches from Oikawa's indignant pout. "I think I'll just-"

Oikawa let out a yelp as he felt warm fingers ghost down his exposed side, skilfully light and precise. "Hajime! I promise you, I'm going to kick you out of - of -" he broke off, diminishing helplessly into borderline hysterical laughter, convulsing beneath Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi's fingers positively danced across Oikawa's smooth skin happily, watching how his eyes creased up so completely, hair working up to a bigger and bigger mass as Oikawa thrashed around.

"Ha-ji-me," Oikawa gasped out, finally tearing his wrists free of his grasp, and shoving at Iwaizumi's shoulders. "You are an absolute demon. I hate you."

Laughing, Iwaizumi allowed himself to be pushed backwards, out of Oikawa's lap. "Fine, fine! I think you've suffered enough," he conceded, lying on his back, head resting beside Oikawa's feet. He resisted the urge to tickle them, too. "For now."

"I think you mean for ever," Oikawa huffed out. "If you ever try that again I'm breaking up with you."

Iwaizumi angled his face forwards, just enough to meet Oikawa's gaze. "That'd be great. Wouldn't have to deal with your shit then."

"You wouldn't have my perfect body then," Oikawa retorted back, sitting up, cross-legged. "It would be the worst loss of your life."

"Oh yeah, your body. That's why I'm with you," Iwaizumi deadpanned, slinging an arm over his eyes.

"Well, it has to be at least part of it," Oikawa huffed out. "I don't stay in shape for the hell of it, you know."

"I already told you," came Iwaizumi's response. "I liked you before I was attracted to you physically. Shut up about your body already."

Oikawa stretched himself out alongside Iwaizumi, propped up on his elbows, a hand drifting over sideways to comb back through Iwaizumi's roughly textured hair. "Then why are you with me?"

Iwaizumi moved his arm, squinting at Oikawa skeptically out of the corner of his eye. "You're fishing for compliments from the wrong person."

"Oh, loosen up, Iwa-chan," Oikawa pursued, leaning over to kiss the hinge of his jaw. "Complimenting your boyfriend is actually a nice thing to do, you know. I get that the concept of 'niceness' might be a bit too much for you to understand, but try, at least!"

"Don't you have other people to torment?" Iwaizumi grunted out, outstretching a hand to tidy up Oikawa's fringe absently.

Oikawa offered him a sweet smile, liking the feel of Iwaizumi's fingers tenderly sweeping his unkempt hair out of his eyes. "You're the only person I chose to torment. It's a great honour - I hope you feel special, because you really should. I don't bestow this much attention upon just anyone, you know."

"Oh, I'm overjoyed about that, for sure," Iwaizumi drawled out sarcastically, even as his other hand cradled the back of Oikawa's neck, encouraging him to bend over, closer.

Their lips met by nothing less than mutual, silent agreement, trading a lazy morning kiss with no urgent passion, only a sincere warmth and fondness, bearing an intimate familiarity.

"I'd better get ready for work," Oikawa sighed out, thinking of the spare kit he kept in his assigned locker in the gym. He didn't dare reveal his gearbag around Iwaizumi. He was far from stupid - Oikawa couldn't give him any reason to doubt his facade. Oikawa hadn't even brought the heat pack Ushijima had given him home, for fear of Iwaizumi easily putting two and two together.

"Alright."

Iwaizumi's best efforts weren't enough to stop Oikawa picking up on his underlying disappointment, a reluctance to let Oikawa leave the bed. Oikawa pecked him once more on the lips, and then clambered off of the bed, mind already flipping to the upcoming match. He wished he could spend more time with Iwaizumi, but he couldn't be late for this, and he still needed to review the tape of their opponents once more...or maybe twice, just to be sure he hadn't missed anything. Would he have time for that? And he'd also like to practice quicks with Hinata beforehand, that shrimp was so difficult to sync up with...

Iwaizumi observed the change in Oikawa's demeanour with a short exhale of breath, noting his closed, analytical expression, eyebrows low and eyes clear and cold. There was definitely something Oikawa wasn't telling him. Likely the thing from two days ago, he thought. Oikawa had promised to tell him about it soon, but Iwaizumi still hated being kept in the dark. He wondered briefly if it was something amiss at his work, or someone bothering him. Maybe the shoots were exhausting him, but that wouldn't explain his constant excessive drinking, even if he was watching Kageyama play on television.

Iwaizumi heaved a sigh, and Oikawa, in the process of pulling on a shirt, was so engulfed in his own thoughts that he didn't notice.

"You'd tell me if you needed help with something, right?" Iwaizumi asked suddenly.

Oikawa blinked as if coming out of a trance, shimmying down into his jeans deftly. "Huh?"

"Sometimes you concentrate so hard it's scary," Iwaizumi muttered under his breath, mostly to himself, then repeated himself, more or less. "Nothing's wrong at work, is it?"

"Iwa-chan, you fret far too much," Oikawa laughed out, chest tight, praying his voice didn't sound too strained. "Everything's just dandy, I promise! Nothing for you to worry your tiny brain about." He leaned over and patted Iwaizumi's head, ruffling his hair roughly.

Iwaizumi swatted his hand away. "Alright. I trust you to be honest with me," he told him, eyes piercingly intense.

Oikawa couldn't breathe anymore. He managed a short nod, the only thing he could do. His throat felt much too knotted up and strangled to lie through, to trust his voice with.

At that moment, Oikawa hated himself.

Iwaizumi gave him a curt nod. "Then you'd better get a move on, before you're late."

Oikawa glanced away, biting hard into the side of his cheek, and barely resisted the urge to tug on his hair. Iwaizumi would definitely know that he was lying to him if he did that - he knew he could read him far too well for Oikawa's liking. He would let Iwaizumi into his body, but to allow him into his mind was much more uncomfortable for him, bordering on terrifying. It required a level of intimacy Oikawa had never had with anyone before, and to feel Hajime within a hair's breadth of it sent razors clawing down Oikawa's bones. He still wasn't sure if he liked or hated the feeling. What he was sure about was that he couldn't do anything about it - Iwaizumi was as stubborn as him, and he only seeped more and more into Oikawa's consciousness with every minute spent together.

Oikawa exhaled, slow and wavering, as he jammed his foot into his shoe.

It's okay, he told himself. There isn't too much longer to go. I'll tell him soon.

He shot a smile over at Iwaizumi to relax him, but Iwaizumi only acknowledged him with a low hum. The unnatural smile plummeted off of his lips, and Oikawa yanked the knot home on his laces tightly, with too much force.

"You sure nothing's wrong?" Iwaizumi questioned again. Giving him another chance.

"Nope!"

Better, Oikawa thought with a heavy weight balancing on his chest. That sounded more natural.

He stood up again, forcing his hands to stay by his sides, and smiled much too widely at Iwaizumi again, smiling at nothing. Iwaizumi only stared back coolly, the message clear.

Cut the bullshit.

Iwaizumi saw Oikawa's fingers twitch restlessly, saw the way his gaze darted around like a petty criminal's, confronted by hard evidence of his ill-thought actions.

He wasn't stupid.

\---

Iwaizumi couldn't bring himself to act like normal around Oikawa. It wasn't his style to hide his mood, even to spare Oikawa from slumping into a sulk. He knew it would happen if he didn't start responding to Oikawa's obvious ploys to relax him, but he still couldn't take his mind off the fact that something was off, something that Oikawa consistently lied to him about.

Iwaizumi sighed aloud, and Oikawa's head raised up sharply. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Iwaizumi answered, swirling the breakfast around in the pan. "Thinking that maybe I should've chosen cooking for a career, since I do it all the time already."

"Mm, I'd definitely pay for your services," Oikawa hummed out, gaze rambling over Iwaizumi's solid form. He had opted not to dress properly yet, and was only in plain jogging trousers which sagged around his waist, revealing the elegant shape of his hips. Oikawa didn't even know if he was wearing anything underneath, and the thought made his mouth run dry. Could he see a dark trail of pubic hair below his navel? Oikawa believed so.

He slipped off his chair and padded over to him, draping his body down Iwaizumi's back, arms looping around his neck and warm breath nestling in the hollow of his collarbone. "You know," Oikawa started, nipping teasingly at Iwaizumi's earlobe. "I do think that I may just have time for a little...delay."

One of his hands fell, sliding through the dark, narrow path of hair leading downwards from Iwaizumi's navel to vanish underneath his waistband. A gratifying shiver ran up Oikawa's spine as his fingers brushed against warm skin. How about that, he wasn't wearing any underwear. Iwaizumi's hand covered his, and withdrew it out of his pants with a slow exhale. Oikawa released a whine of disappointment, but he'd been expecting as much. He already knew Hajime wasn't in the mood for anything sexual.

"What time do you have to be in work by?" Iwaizumi asked. He knew Oikawa's advances hadn't been serious.

"Like, half eight or something."

"And you have everything ready to go as soon as you've finished eating?"

"Yeah, yeah," Oikawa sighed out, rolling his eyes. "Thanks for making breakfast, _Mom_."

"Smartass," Iwaizumi answered, but there was no real bite in his tone. Which worried Oikawa. Iwaizumi's responses were vague, shorter than usual. Oikawa tried again to reach him, to get him to engage like the morning.

"You know, you should cook shirtless more often," he murmured, and Iwaizumi snorted.

"No way. It's cold."

"It's almost July! How can you be cold?" Oikawa huffed out, watching the sizzle of the pan with a deep appreciation.

Iwaizumi's hand found his and laced their fingers together, but the gesture was somehow distant, his reply lacking.

"I just am. I think I'll put my shirt back on."

Oikawa whined about it, but Iwaizumi shook him off easily, leaving him in charge of breakfast for the time being. Oikawa scowled down into the pan. Iwaizumi had been acting a little off - nothing major, only tiny hints of dissatisfaction showing - with him ever since this morning - not even an hour ago, and Oikawa was already feeling himself growing more and more upset. His attempts to reach him hadn't worked, and Oikawa knew that if this kept up, he himself would plunge into a sulk.

Then again, he'd probably be gone before that could happen.

Shifting his weight to his right leg, Oikawa grimaced and switched back to leaning on his left. He'd need to take something for the pain or he wouldn't make it through two sets. Yesterday was an utter fucking disaster, but he could come back from it, he was sure of it. He couldn't afford to allow himself to slack off because of his knee being a complete little shit.

Iwaizumi returned, unfortunately better clothed in a casual black t-shirt, and squinted skeptically into the pan. "You didn't burn it?"

"Don't act like you were expecting me to!" Oikawa protested. "I need to go and do some way more important stuff anyways."

Iwaizumi's gaze shifted over to him, and Oikawa knew he was an instant away from questioning him instead of his usual, "Alright." He couldn't say something so general now, not after straight-up lying to him.

"It's my knee," Oikawa confessed, opting for the truth, or near enough. "I'm standing most of the day, and it takes its toll on it, so I just need to take some painkillers beforehand."

Perhaps sensing the piece of truth in his words, Iwaizumi nodded, focusing back onto the breakfast. "Alright. This'll be ready when you come back."

"Thanks!" Oikawa sang out as he flaunted towards the door. "You're a lifesaver, Iwa-chan!"

"Stop mucking around or you'll be late," was the curt response, and Oikawa rolled his eyes.

So responsible.

\--

Now, Oikawa thought as he examined the rows of medication on his cabinet shelf. Which one?

He scanned the options absently, considering each choice before mentally tossing it in the bin. Not strong enough, that one would make him sleepy, that'd make him woozy...aha!

Oikawa grabbed the chosen one triumphantly, knocking off the top and shaking out a few into his palm. Perfect. Strong, but not strong enough to dull his senses. And if the pain broke through this..

Oikawa shook his head. It won't, he assured himself, but he pocketed the bottle too. Just in case.

\---

They parted with unease.

Iwaizumi didn't want to let Oikawa go. He didn't have a good feeling worming about in his gut about allowing him to go out once more, but that was the thing. He couldn't stop him even if he wanted to try.

Oikawa fidgeted with the edge of his jacket as they reached the end of the hallway, realising why the scent whispering against his nostrils was so familiar, so comforting. It was the one he'd given Iwaizumi on the hospital rooftop, what seemed like an age ago, but the strength of the aura told him otherwise.

The back of Iwaizumi’s hand wisped flush against his as Oikawa turned by the door, facing Iwaizumi’s default expression.

“I suppose I'll see you at six or so?” Iwaizumi asked, but he wasn't as good as Oikawa was as regulating his tone, and the question fell flat, to both of their ears.

Oikawa nodded blankly. “I think so.”

Iwaizumi’s gaze darted sideways, and he scratched the back of his neck absently. “Goodbye, then.”

Oikawa's heart plunged. He didn't want to leave things like this.

“I-” he tried, lips dry. He paused, and Iwaizumi's eyes met his. “Yeah?”

Frustrated that he couldn't place the words he needed, Oikawa grabbed Iwaizumi's upper arm with one hand and wrapped his other arm around his neck, enticing him in closer, stepping in as near as he could go. Iwaizumi's expression barely shifted as Oikawa pushed his mouth against his, desperately seeking a reaction.

It was a moment or two before Iwaizumi's hands found Oikawa's hips.

Nowhere near satisfied, Oikawa parted his lips, driving the kiss deeper and angling his head to the side, his nose pressing against Iwaizumi's cheek. There was a split second of relief when he felt Iwaizumi's lips move back against his, returning the soft pressure. Then Iwaizumi's hand was splayed against his breastbone, and he shoved him away, only a couple of inches, but it was enough for Oikawa's grasp on him to falter. He shrunk away, feeling his heartbeat weaken, blood flaccid in his veins.

“Stop trying to force things,” Iwaizumi told him, and although his voice wasn't unkind, it had an edge of sharpness that made Oikawa swallow thickly.

Fear clumped together in Oikawa's throat, threatening to choke off his air, his voice. Fear of Iwaizumi's patience running out, becoming sick of his lies, leaving him. 

“I tell you everything I can,” Oikawa spouted out, voice bordering on frantic. “You know that, right? And I swear, I swear I'll tell you everything once this week is out, everything!”

Iwaizumi ran a hand back through his hair, sighing and looking over Oikawa's shoulder. “I know I said I'd wait, but I don't appreciate being kept in the dark like this. Especially since you're not doing fine, and you won't tell me why.”

“Wait a few more days,” Oikawa pleaded, catching Iwaizumi's hands in his. They were cold, and Oikawa squeezed them. “Please, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi stood still for a few seconds, and then, to Oikawa's great, great relief, he clasped Oikawa's hands warmly. He raised them to his face, settling a gentle kiss on his knuckles.

“Alright,” he conceded quietly. “Two more days. Provided that you don't get drunk in that time.”

Oikawa chewed the side of his cheek. “I- okay. Okay.”

Iwaizumi nodded and let go of his hands. “Then you'd better leave, or you'll be late.”

Oikawa nodded back in acknowledgment, aching to kiss him again, knowing he would respond this time but not wanting to push his luck. “Thank you.”

“I trust you, but I don't trust you to be kind to yourself,” Iwaizumi said. “I don't know what you're doing, but it's not good for you.”

Oikawa pursed his lips. “It doesn't matter about me. You need the mon-”

“What I need is you to stop doing this to yourself!”

Iwaizumi hardly held back from snapping furiously at Oikawa, who flinched backwards slightly in shame, the line of his mouth wavering. Iwaizumi sighed deeply, lowering his head with his jaw clenched, dragging a hand back through his bristly hair.

“I think it's best if you go now,” Iwaizumi said quietly.

Oikawa swallowed with difficulty, his eyes staying low as he clutched the jacket tighter around him. “Yeah.”

He opened the door and slipped through in an instant, gone.

\--

Iwaizumi hadn't had any free time in such a long time, and especially not to himself, without Oikawa, that he found himself at quite a loss. He tidied up a bit in silence, found that the lack of chatter settled uneasily in his ears, and so he dug out Oikawa's radio from his wardrobe. After a fair bit of fiddling around, he finally got it working, sneezing every so often from the consistently rising dust. He flicked through the stations, through dilemmas which didn't interest him, jaunty pop music which fell flat against his ears, until a line hooked his attention.

_-teams are lining up now, for the fourth round of the qualifiers, and, I have to say, neither team looks very nervous-_

Iwaizumi wasn't sure what sport they were on about yet, but he was certain that any sport was better than the other crap he was finding. And undoubtedly better than the unwanted thoughts running through his mind. He relaxed, whipping himself up some coffee as the commentators blathered on, only picking out the necessary facts. Volleyball, that was good. He could follow what was happening easily, then - sometimes the lingo of a particular sport was essential to have to listen to it - and it seemed to be only the qualifier round for an international cup, against Australia.

Iwaizumi sat down, whirling his spoon through the dark liquid in his mug. It was good to have something else to focus on.

_The starting lineup for Japan is-_

Iwaizumi's attention was turned to a familiar jingle, and an insistent, if distant, vibrating. If he hadn't been listening so intently to the radio, he probably wouldn't have heard his phone ring out at all.

_\- -Libero, Yaku Morisuke, Middle blocker, Hinata Shouyo-_

"Ah, fuck," Iwaizumi muttered. He'd forgotten his phone in the bedroom. As he left, he could hear the last snatches of the presenter's voice before it faded out.

_-Right wing, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Setter-_

Obviously Kageyama, Iwaizumi thought as he rifled through the room. He would've liked to have heard the rest of the players - he'd become unfamiliar with the current team, having been much too busy to follow his old high school passion - but he figured that he'd pick up the names and positions as the game went on.

Where the fuck did he leave his phone?

Ah, there it was. Folded into the pocket of yesterday's jeans. Fishing it out, Iwaizumi only got a glance at the screen before it stopped ringing, but it was enough.

Kindaichi? Iwaizumi queried silently. Why was Kindaichi ringing him?

Perhaps to ask if he was going training tomorrow, but it was usually Kuroo who dealt with that and passed it on to anyone else who cared. Iwaizumi checked his voicemail - no, nothing. Attempting to call him back, he only got the annoying, bouncy “busy” tone. He clicked his tongue in irritation and pocketed his phone - 23% battery, but that was okay, he’d be at home for another few hours - and moved back into the kitchen, reclaiming his forgone coffee.

_-and he serves, blasting straight past number five and down onto the court! It's another no-touch ace from the famed setter-_

"Hm, sounds like Kageyama really worked on his serves," Iwaizumi mumbled absently to himself, taking a sip of his coffee.

_-the other side hasn't gotten a chance to attack yet, under such immense pressure! He steps up to the mark, tosses...and smashes it! It hits the back of the court untouched, but - oh, oh, it looks like it's out! What a shame!-_

"Apparently not enough," Iwaizumi corrected himself, and he took his phone into his hands, wondering if Oikawa was listening to the match, too.

He resisted the urge to send him a text, thinking that it'd only be distracting him.

_-that ends his streak, and it's back to Australia to take back the points forcefully stolen from them! O' Dally for the serve, and it's a powerful one, but Yaku receives it with ease!-_

_-He truly does makes it look so simple, doesn't he?-_

_-You're right about that! The toss goes up, and here comes the ace, Ushijima Wakatoshi, the man!-_

_-The myth!-_

_-The legend!-_

_-He smashes it down, and the poor receivers never had a chance at that one!-_

Sounds like one of Oikawa's serves, Iwaizumi thought with some amusement, and then he stiffened.

What sounded more like Oikawa's serves were the earlier serve descriptions.

Swallowing, Iwaizumi shook his head. There were plenty of strong servers on the team, Kageyama included. Just because they'd painted the image of a serve similar to what Iwaizumi had seen of Oikawa's didn't mean it was Oikawa's. Kageyama was a junior of Oikawa's, of course his serve would be similar to his.

Plus, Iwaizumi thought, there's no way Oikawa's knee could be holding up.

The image of Oikawa's pocket, bulging with painkillers, flashed through his mind, and he dropped his phone down, listening to the radio with a particular concentration which wasn't there before.

He was probably only being paranoid, but his gut feeling had yet to let him down.

He turned the radio up.

_-and it's going to- no, wait, wait, it's a dump! Right over the head of the middle blocker who's been on his tail all of this set!-_

_-You can sense the pure frustration from the Australians, they're hopping mad, if you'll pardon the pun!-_

_-I would be too, if such a cheeky move was used on me!-_

His phone rang again. He answered without even looking at the name.

"Yeah?" Iwaizumi spoke, short and clipped. He kept one ear tuned into the radio.

"Ah…” came a stumbling, unexpecting voice. “Iwaizumi-san, I'm so, so sorry for just turning up like this Yahaba assured me that you wouldn't mind but I couldn't think of anyone else I'd rather go to for advice and-”

“Kindaichi, slow down,” Iwaizumi interrupted, forehead creasing up as he slipped off his seat. “Did something happen? Where are you?”

There was a pause.

“Something did...I guess? And I'm so sorry but I'm outside your door.”

“Outside my...door?” Iwaizumi questioned as he strode down the hallway.

“Yeah, I tried to ring you to ask you if I could come around but I sort of panicked and then Matsukawa-san suggested I should go to you for advice and he knew Oikawa-san’s address so I-”

Iwaizumi swung open the door, and Kindaichi was indeed standing there, a tall, flustered man with reddened cheeks and a phone clasped in a sweaty palm.

“Hi,” he said meekly, raising his free hand. “It's really creepy to just turn up like this, I know, but Hanamaki-san and Matsukawa-san were driving me insane.”

“It's alright,” Iwaizumi responded, stepping back to gesture him in. “I know what they're like. And you did try to call me beforehand to ask.”

Kindaichi stepped on through the doorway, mouth opening as he gazed all around him in wonder. “I had no idea Oikawa-san lived in a place like this.”

Iwaizumi shrugged, leading him into the kitchen, where the radio was still blaring. He heard the radio, but it only drifted in one ear and straight through his mind to exit out the other.

 

_-He’s only been back for two matches so far, and yet he's causing quite a stir!-_

_-I can hear his fangirls screaming from all the way up here, they're wild, did you hear one tried to break into the back rooms just to meet him-_

 

Iwaizumi turned the volume down almost completely, and gestured to a chair, which Kindaichi sat in, if a tad bit awkwardly.

“So, what's up?” Iwaizumi asked, sliding easily into the seat beside him.

Kindaichi fiddled with his fingers, gaze plummeting into his lap and sticking there, seemingly lost for words. Iwaizumi sighed, lifting a hand and tapping him on the forehead firmly.

“Come on. I know something's up, and I know that you want to talk about it. That's why you're here, isn't it?”

Kindaichi sucked in the side of his cheek nervously, and nodded, but still stayed mute. Iwaizumi rose from his seat, feeling like he should do something to set him at ease.

“Do you want a coffee, or something to drink?”

Kindaichi offered him a little, shy smile, shallow dimples imprinting on his cheeks. “Tea would be beyond great, if you don't mind.”

“‘Course not,” Iwaizumi answered, frowning as he searched the cupboards. He'd never seen Oikawa drink tea before, and he didn't either…

Reaching back into the depths of one, he produced a green box with a thankful breath of relief, turning it around to check if it was still in date. A faded post-it stuck to the side caught his attention, and he read it quickly.

 _Suga’s, do not touch under any circumstances. That means you, Oikawa. Hands off. I_ _will_ _know._

Iwaizumi snorted and placed it down onto the table. What Sugawara didn't know wouldn't hurt him...or Oikawa, hopefully. Dropping the teabag into a mug, Iwaizumi loitered by the kettle, watching as Kindaichi slowly became more and more uncomfortable with the silence Iwaizumi was perfectly happy with.

“So…” Kindaichi broke out. “You're living with Oikawa-san now?”

Iwaizumi nodded. “I got kicked out of my old place. Oikawa was kind enough to let me stay here for almost nothing.”

Kindaichi nodded vacantly in acknowledgment, glancing around himself, but Iwaizumi could tell his mind was somewhere else completely. A sort of protectiveness surged up in him - he'd taught Kindaichi everything he knew for the past year. He was his volleyball son, and he wanted to be someone he could confide in.

“I heard that you had a match today,” he began, trying to recall the details Kuroo told him. “How'd that go?”

Kindaichi jolted, and Iwaizumi’s expression softened. “There's no need to be so jumpy, Kindaichi.”

“I know I'm sorry it's just that - ah, it went fine, we won, and I got the final point so it went pretty well for me, definitely,” he babbled, obviously still on edge despite Iwaizumi’s attempts at reassurance.

Iwaizumi swirled the teabag around in the mug. “Sounds like you're already a regular on the team. Well done.”

“T-thanks,” Kindaichi stammered out, flustered by the sudden praise. “I mean - I wouldn't be nearly as good if you hadn't coached me, so thank you, really!”

Iwaizumi let out a small chuckle, squeezing out the bag before tossing it into the sink. “I only told you things. The practice and perfection of techniques was all you. Give yourself some credit. Milk or sugar?”

“Ah, a little bit of milk will do fine, thanks.”

Iwaizumi handed him the mug and reclaimed his own - admittedly dismally cold - coffee, sitting next to Kindaichi again.

“Something happened at the match,” Kindaichi blurted out.

“I thought you said it went well?”

“Too well!” Kindaichi hunched up his shoulders, red flowing into his cheeks.

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow. “Is this a romantic issue?”

“Wait - it's not -” Kindaichi struggled for words, only getting redder the more Iwaizumi watched. “Yeah, kind of, but not really, because nothing will happen and I know it'll go away eventually-”

“Kindaichi, you're rambling,” Iwaizumi cut in smoothly. “Slow down, take a breath. Tell me what happened from the beginning.”

Collecting himself, Kindaichi gulped down a breath, followed by a quick swallow of tea. Iwaizumi turned his gaze away, sipping at his coffee as his eyes slid over to the radio, wishing he could make out the words from the low mumbling. He couldn't just turn it up and push Kindaichi’s dilemma to the side, as much as he'd like to - it sounded harsh, even in his own head, but he was going to prioritise Oikawa above Kindaichi. He wished Kindaichi could've come a little earlier.

He shrugged to himself. It wasn't as if he didn't care about Kindaichi. He just cared more about Oikawa. Slightly, that is. Even inside his own head, he stubbornly refused to ride his ego up any more.

“Iwaizumi-san?”

Iwaizumi rotated to him. “Yeah?”

“Have you ever wanted to kiss someone so badly it actually hurts? Right here.” Kindaichi tapped a finger against his chest. “And your breath gets thick, and it's like you've stopped breathing because you don't need to anymore, you just need to kiss this person?”

Every time Oikawa smiles, Iwaizumi thought, and nodded. He got it.

Kindaichi ducked his face, heat blooming all over his face. “The match itself was fine, but then we won, and he - he's always so good at hiding his excitement, but this time he leaped at me, and I caught him and he was smiling so widely and our faces were so close and he looked so - so radiant, Iwaizumi-san. I lost my footing and fell backwards, and he came down with me, with his fingers in my hair.” Kindaichi inhaled a deep breath. “Then I realised that I was leaning in, and I jerked back. I hit the back of my head off the court, and Kunimi got to his feet, and I thought that was weird, but it was over. That's what I thought!”

“Kunimi, huh?” Iwaizumi mused, slugging down a bit more of coffee and trying not to think about the radio. His fingers drummed along the tabletop. “Your best friend.”

“Exactly!” Kindaichi blurted out. “Normally I'd go to him with things like this, but-”

Iwaizumi lifted an eyebrow. “But?”

“I can't be around him right now, or I know I'll end up kissing him!” Kindaichi exclaimed in utter despair, cradling his head in his hands.

“Are you sure that’s a bad thing? Kunimi’s been feeling the same for years. Well, according to Oikawa,” Iwaizumi clarified.

“Wha-” Kindaichi’s head raised, slow and hesitant. His eyes gleamed with a sort of half-formed hope mingled with the initial confusion, and Iwaizumi shrugged.

“I can't say anything. I'm not that good at reading people, and Kunimi’s so impassive that I have no chance of figuring him out. But I know Oikawa's good at that sort of stuff, and he's mentioned before that Kunimi has feelings for you. Since high school?”

“But - he listened to all my ramblings about you and Watari,” Kindaichi blurted out unsteadily, his hands knotting together anxiously. “He supported me with all of my decisions to get closer to you and even found out if Watari was interested in guys for me and didn't say anything! He couldn't like me that way.”

“And doing all of that must've killed him inside,” Iwaizumi said quietly. “It's what you do if you care about someone sincerely. You do what helps them, even if it hurts you.”

“Oh, God…..” Kindaichi moaned, his hands twisting and writhing around each other rapidly.

Iwaizumi lifted a hand, placed it on his shoulder and squeezed it firmly. “I know you two will figure it out,” he said, matter-of-fact. “If you've been best friends this long, something like this won't fuck it up.”

“You really think so?”

Iwaizumi shrugged. “The best relationships are based on solid friendships. I wasn't attracted to Oikawa at all at first, but then we became close friends and…” he shrugged again, trying to describe their gradual bonding accurately. “Here we are.”

Kindaichi stared at him, eyes broad. “You and Oikawa-san are together?”

“Yeah. Somehow,” Iwaizumi answered clearly.

“I should've guessed,” Kindaichi said, mostly to himself. “He was all over you at that pub.”

“I suppose,” Iwaizumi agreed absently, fingernails clinking against the side of his mug. “But I think that was just to test out a theory.”

Kindaichi looked confused for a moment, then it clicked into place, and he sighed. “I'm that transparent, huh?”

“To Oikawa. Which I don't think counts, seeing as insanely observant he can be.”

“Didn't Kuroo-san know too?”

“Okay, you have a point there,” Iwaizumi admitted. “But I hadn't noticed anything.”

They chatted on for a little while longer, until Kindaichi drained the last of his tea.

“I should get going. Kunimi will be wondering where I am.”

He chewed on his lip after speaking, and Iwaizumi clapped him hard on the shoulder.

“You'll do just fine.”

Kindaichi gave him a sweet, thankful smile, and Iwaizumi amiably pushed him towards the doorway. “Go and get him.”

He slipped off his seat to show Kindaichi out, giving him a few more words of encouragement as he left, then bolted back to the kitchen. Leaning over the table, he turned the radio up dramatically, and the noise of the commentary blasted through the room.

_-he's about to toss, and it's going to the - no, no, he's only tapped it up slightly and the centre comes through, Hinata Shouyo with a beautiful form and an utterly beautiful straight-_

_-It gets picked up! Oikawa's judgement doesn't seem to be on par of what he previously exhibited-_

Iwaizumi stopped listening. He left the radio on, heart pounding, and grabbed his jacket fast.

Striding down the hallway, Iwaizumi slammed the front door shut, and the radio kept talking, talking to nobody at all.

_-shaping up to be a dramatic match! Do you think Oikawa can pull off a miracle this time?!-_

_-He's sure as hell trying! He certainly did a number on the opponents yesterday -_

_-Oh, there's no doubt about that! The question is, will it be enough to overcome the stronger opponent?-_

_-There goes the bell! Back on the court!-_

_-I guess we're about to find out!-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonus: comment to validate my existence and that I'm not wasting my time posting it up here  
> also amalasdraws answered my tags im dying inside


	17. I am skin, flesh, flaws, scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oikawa faces up to one of his faults, iwaizumi loses his belt, oikawa's father makes a cameo, and both of them realise one very important thing  
> /warning: one-off physical abuse in this chapter, nothing too graphic but please be careful/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cringes* I can't write the main characters of the series very well I don't understand extroverts that I haven't thoroughly analysed I'm sorry  
> I mean kageyama isn't an extrovert but still

Oikawa could feel Hinata’s eyes boring into the back of his skull.

  
They only faltered a second after he turned around too, Hinata’s intensity never ceasing even after the eye contact broke. Oikawa didn't like it. He felt...scrutinised. Like being stripped away, scrubbed harshly with a metallic, barbed sponge. When the coach hadn't pulled him aside the instant he'd walked in, Oikawa had assumed that neither of them had told him about the little incident yesterday.

  
Kageyama had spent the entire morning skirting around him skittishly, as if he still had ethanol fever running through his blood. It reminded Oikawa of how he'd acted after he'd hit him, all the way back in middle school.

  
Had either of them changed at all?

  
Grimacing at the thought, and unable to disprove it, Oikawa's hands met the smooth outside of the ball, sending it over to the right. He could sense Kageyama’s unease as he slammed it over the net, Yaku’s graceful, fluid movement across the court picking it up effortlessly.

  
He heard Kageyama's little ‘tsk’ of disappointment, quickly running to Oikawa's side to contribute to the block. He stopped further away from Oikawa than he should've, and the ball squeezed through that careless gap, kissing the court with a soft tap.

  
“Kageyama, Oikawa! What the hell was that?!”

  
Oikawa shrugged his apology. Kageyama jumped and spun around to the coach, flinging himself forwards into a bow.

  
“I'm sorry, coach! It won't happen again!”

  
“Don't let it, or I'll have to send you back to middle school to learn how to block.”

  
Kageyama stiffened, and Oikawa raised an eyebrow as he straightened up.

  
“It isn't like you, to be so humble,” he started, and Kageyama's gaze darted to the side. Oikawa's lips sunk down into a smirk. “Why are you so on edge? Something the matter, Tobio-chan?”

  
“N - no. Not at all.”

  
“You never were a good liar,” Oikawa sighed out sympathetically, running a hand back through his hair with a sly smile. Kageyama was taller than him, and yet it felt like he was looking down on him.

  
Oikawa would've liked to have said that it didn't feel good, to see the emotion bordering on fear in Kageyama's eyes.

  
“What's up?” he asked, with a comforting smile like a shark. “The upcoming match surely isn't making you nervous, is it?”

  
“Kageyama doesn't get nervous!” came Hinata’s yell. “He's a robot!”

  
Oikawa could visibly see the shift in Tobio’s mood as he turned to Hinata, shouting back, “I am not a robot!”

  
“Oh, really? Explain your face!”

  
“What does my face have to do with anything?!”

  
“It's not a face! It has no expression!”

  
“What? What are you talking about? Of course I have a face!”

  
Oikawa rolled his eyes, blowing out a breath. They were both idiots.

\---

  
The rest of the morning prep passed in a sort of surreal act, of Oikawa, his practised poise mystifying Kageyama and fascinating Hinata, with his gleaming golden eyes. Hungry eyes tracked Oikawa's every movement, and Oikawa would've been lying if he said it didn't make him uneasy.

Off the court and away from volleyball, Hinata was cute, hyperactive, friendly. On the court, he had a deep-flowing determination, the reason why such a small player made it onto the national team in the first place.  
It reminded Oikawa of himself in high school, and that fact disturbed him.  
Except Hinata never seemed to doubt or question himself - he went for it, and so Oikawa wasn't overly surprised when he tapped Oikawa on the shoulder in a break.

  
“Hm? Do you need something?” Oikawa asked him graciously, putting down the water bottle with an easy smile.

  
Hinata nodded, hands twisting around each other. “Yeah, I was wondering about something.”

  
Oikawa waved a hand in the air, not bothering to stand up off the bench. “Ask away. I suppose I should really spread around my knowledge and experience.”

  
“How come you're so mean to Kageyama?”

  
The edges of Oikawa's mouth downturned, and he rotated away, eyes averting. “You wouldn't get it,” he murmured, then rose his voice, amiably continuing, “Why don't you ask me about blocking techniques or something out need to improve on? There's no point in stressing your tiny mind about that!”

  
Hinata stuck out his bottom lip, and Oikawa offered him a disarming smile, praying he'd forget about it. He outstretched a hand, aiming to ruffle his hair.

  
“Listen, Chibi-chan-”

  
Hinata swatted his hand away, blurting out, “Kageyama's unhappy! And I know it's because he wants your approval but no matter what he does it's never good enough for you! I know you've got stuff going on but that's no excuse for you to bully him like this!”

  
Oikawa's lips tightened. “I'm not bullying him.”

  
“You might as well be,” Hinata insisted, eyes wide and glaring, accusing. “Beating you in high school did nothing to stop him being scared of playing against you. It only proved he was a better setter than you!”

  
Oikawa stood up abruptly, towering over Hinata, who didn't give a twitch. He stared down at his defiant face, and clenched his jaw, speaking through a thick, upset throat.

  
“You don't understand.”

  
Hinata's eyebrows furrowed deeply, questioning clearly radiating out from every petite feature.

  
Suddenly, Oikawa's face cleared up, and he beamed down a reassuring grin at Hinata, slapping his shoulder lightly.

“Just do your job, okay? We can't have our best decoy worrying about complex issues like that, can we? It's distracting!”

  
Before Hinata could reply, Oikawa spun around and strode off, into the refuge of the bathrooms.

  
\---

  
Hands clenching around porcelain, Oikawa thought about Hinata’s words.  
He wasn't...being that harsh to Kageyama, was he?

  
His eyes, evading him in the mirror, told him otherwise. Draping his head over the sink, Oikawa blew out a quiet sigh. He didn't mean to be so hard on Kageyama, but he words spilled out naturally, too naturally. He was afraid to think of what that meant. Even Hinata had noticed it, and that was something.

  
“Ugh,” Oikawa complained, and the door swung open.

  
“What are you being pissy about now?” Yaku questioned, walking over to a urinal.

  
“I'm not being pissy about anything! You're being pissy,” Oikawa accused, sniffing. “I'm hurt.”

  
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. What’s going on, before I have to beat it out of you.”

  
Oikawa's answering sigh was so loud that it almost drained out the sound of Yaku peeing.

  
“Yaku, do you think I'm being too mean to -”

  
“Yup.”

  
“You don't even know who it is yet!”

  
“It's either Kageyama or Ushijima, but you're being a bit nicer to Ushijima and worse to poor Kageyama. Cut the kid some slack.”

  
Oikawa snorted, fingers loosening around the sink edges. “I never thought I'd hear you say that. You were an absolute demon to Lev.”

  
“All to help him improve,” Yaku pointed out, finishing up his business. “You're just being a salty dick.”

  
Oikawa's expression grew pinched, his lips whitening. “I don't intend to be.”

  
“Well, you are,” Yaku said starkly. “It's not his fault that he has more talent than you. It's about time you accept that fact and move on.”

  
In Oikawa's silence, Yaku washed his hands, and continued talking.

  
“You've got other strengths, you know that. We're not going to get rid of you because of his accuracy. There's more to setting than that, and he's still only nineteen. He looks up to you to learn those things, and you're being a shithead to him.”

  
“Fine, fine, I get it,” Oikawa snapped, irritation ringing on his voice. “What's your point?”

  
“You don't need to feel threatened by him, so stop being a dried-up ballsack. Not a good thing to be.”

  
“Alright, alright, you can quit it with the insults now,” Oikawa protested, but distractedly, the innards of his brain firing up urgently.

  
He leaned with the front of the sink digging into the side of his hip, chewing his lower lip. Yaku observed him for a moment, then propped his tiny, Donald-Trump-size hands up onto his waist.

  
“Looks like you've got some thinking to do. I'll tell the lads you're taking a massive shit and will be a few minutes,” Yaku offered helpfully, and exited the bathroom before Oikawa could splutter out a threat.

  
Oikawa submitted himself to the humiliation and chose not to yell after him, instead slumping against the back wall.

  
Yaku was right - he did have some thinking to do.  
\--  
“Ah, pardon me, sorry, coming through!” Oikawa apologised graciously as he shouldered his way towards the slick cap of black hair at the front.

  
The anticipating thrumming of the crowd was filtering into the tunnel, and yet the team was hushed, only quiet whispers making it past their lips. Oikawa didn't have the luxury of being nervous about the imminent match - he had a much more unnerving challenge to be anxious about.

  
“Tobio-chan,” Oikawa said softly, and he could see how Kageyama's shoulders juddered upwards nervously before he turned around obediently.

  
It didn't make him feel good.

  
“Yes, Oikawa-san?”

  
“I want to apologise,” Oikawa started, gulping in a deep breath. “For treating you like I have. None of it was your fault.”

  
Kageyama blinked impassively, then blinked again, and kept on blinking disbelievingly until Oikawa waved a palm in front of his face.

  
“Anyone in there? He~llo, Tobio-chan? Any sign of life?”

  
Kageyama jolted back to life, and his eyes were fixed wide, gaze twitching all over the place. “Is...this a joke?” he asked hesitantly, and Hinata’s eyes sought out the duo.

  
Oikawa suddenly felt under a lot more pressure. He tried for a smile, but it was dismal, failing to resemble anything close to assurance.

  
“This isn't a joke. I'm serious. I've been unfair to you, to say the least.” Oikawa bit his lip. “I'm sorry.”

  
“I…” Kageyama's forehead creased up, chaotic befuddlement clouding up his face. “I don't understand why you're apologising now.”

  
Oikawa grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I didn't want to start this match with bad feeling between us, because to win, we’ll need to work together.”

  
It didn't kill him as much as he thought it would to say that.

  
Kageyama nodded sharply, and...did his shoulders straighten? Winning was one thing he understood, through and through.

  
“I get it,” he told Oikawa, then bowed swiftly, surprising Oikawa further. “It's an honour to work with you, Oikawa-san.”

  
Oikawa lifted an eyebrow, feeling all his stage confidence swoop back easily as he tapped Kageyama’s skull. “Damn right it is, but there's no need to bow, okay? Don't fuck up out there, and that's enough thanks for me.”

  
Kageyama instantly pops back up to his normal height - maybe a bit taller - and nods again, firm and determined. “I won't mess anything up.”

  
His voice held the regal pride of a knight with unwavering faith in his abilities once again, and Oikawa laughed out loud. He was so serious it was almost adorable.

Almost.

  
Kageyama was regarding him, mystified, and Oikawa spun his hand through the air elegantly, wrist rotating in a dismissive gesture.

  
“Don't worry about it, Tobio-chan. You might think I'm insane, but I'm mostly on your side now!”

  
Under his bemused gaze, Oikawa smiled and clapped him on the back, hearing the thunder of the crowd, feeling the crackling atmosphere raise hairs on his skin.

  
“Let's win.”

  
\---

  
Iwaizumi’s lips curled back into a grimace.

  
As expected of a International game, crowds swarmed around the stadium, security guards buzzing among them for mob-control, cameras cocked on every corner and metal gates next to the ticket collectors, automated and booths.

  
He didn't have a fucking ticket.

  
His eyes drifted sideways, measuring up the indoor stadium, checking for a fire escape, a janitor’s entrance he could sneak in through, something. Chewing his lower lip, he cursed that fact that he'd been too occupied to bring any damn money apart from some change leftover in his pockets, and he'd never bothered getting a credit card. He'd pay for a ticket if he could, or even had the money.  
To give himself time to catch his breath from the hard running, Iwaizumi circled around the stadium once, twice, ignoring the vicious shouting inside him to get in there, get in there and haul the dumbass out.

Nothing. Fuck all ways to get in without paying. Iwaizumi kicked the bricks of a neighbouring building in frustration, staring up at the looming, taunting side of the stadium. He wasn't fucking waiting until Oikawa's match was over. Every second loitered away was a bit more of Oikawa's mind deteriorating, a little bit more unstable, his knee disintegrating just a tiny piece more.

  
Iwaizumi glanced upwards more, until he could see the sky above the roof of the stadium, craning his neck to scan it. And, after a little more tilting back, the top of the other building came into view as a black sheet at the top of his vision. His eyes narrowed, shielding him against the glare of the bright sky, stretched in between the two buildings. He could just about see the sun out of the corner of his gaze, throwing deep shadows into the grooves of the bricks. He squinted, and realised that the amount of sky he could see between the two buildings wasn't very much. It was slender, in comparison to the other gaps, thin and narrow.

  
A very narrow strip of sky indeed.

  
Blinking fast, he dropped his gaze back down, taking in his surroundings with a lot more awareness. Open crowds to his left, an alleyway blocked off by a fence to his right, glinting stadium in front and worn office building behind. He backed up until his back hit the office block, and then strode forwards, until his nose was almost touching the blank wall in front.

Four paces.

  
He glanced to his right and saw that they hadn't bothered posting men there, since it was only a wall of a stadium, not even a window to climb through. Who'd want to look out a window with the glamorous view of rotting brick?

  
However, there was a door on the other side, an entrance into the old office. A door that looked pretty beaten down, worn, and ever so slightly ajar.

  
Iwaizumi allowed himself a tiny smile.  
He spun around to his left until he reached the dotted outskirts of the main crowd, then turned to face the alleyway again.

  
Iwaizumi eyed up the fence dubiously, well above his height, grey with wires lacing through each other in a hexagonal pattern all the way across, apart from a solid bar running along the top.

  
His lips cracked into a crooked smile.

He'd tackled fences like this all the time when he was a teenager. Backing up a few more steps, he bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, glad he wore his comfortable runners. Then he took off, sprinting flat-out over the last few metres.

  
Time to see if he still had it.

  
Iwaizumi had always been athletic by nature, by his build, able to excel in many areas of sport, and this fact worked for him now. His foot caught on the steel links of the fence, he grabbed the supporting bar at the top, and launched himself over it. There was a split second of suspension, his legs almost parallel to the top bar, where his breath emptied out of his lungs, and suddenly he was sixteen again, laughing madly as he dodged through alleyways, no responsibilities, no burden except what to do next to give him a rush.

  
Then he landed, a bit wonkily, and air gushed back into his lungs - his ankle flashed with a complaint, but he had no time to tend to it, no time at all.

  
The hairs at the back of his neck prickled with a reawakened sense, and he was running before the guard had even called out.

  
"What're you do-hey! Stop!"

  
Iwaizumi flung open the side door and bundled himself inside, ripping off his belt and tying it around the handles quickly, securely. It reminded him of the time his gang of friends had to flee from the police - they'd split up with the loot, bolted into different areas, closed all the routes behind him and regrouped afterwards. It had worked like a dream, but it had been planned beforehand. Iwaizumi had no plan - at least, not a concrete, foolproof one. And now his jeans kept sagging down around his hips. Perfect.

  
Mentally grabbling for any sort of a plan, Iwaizumi whirled around, taking quick stock of his situation. A small, dim stairwell sat in front of him, movers, empty boxes, rolls of packaging tape, all lying around idly. Iwaizumi decided to spare a moment and grab one of the rolls before dashing up the stairs, hearing thumps against the secured door. He ripped some tape off with his teeth and managed to wrap it around two belt loops, successfully stopping his jeans from dropping around his ankles.

  
He should've just used the tape on the door instead, really.

  
No time for hindsight now, Iwaizumi thought, bypassing all the floor exits.  
He was going straight for the only plan he had - stupid and rushed, but it was doable. If he didn't lose his nerve.  
The rage flowing through his veins assured him that he wasn't about to back out now. Sprinting up past all the floors, Iwaizumi thanked his stars he'd kept himself in decent shape - his rapid breaths were turning into pants, but the energy coursing through him wasn't diminishing. He could make it.

  
A crash from below him indicated that they'd burst through the door, and Iwaizumi cursed underneath his breath. They'd hear his steps, but he believed he had enough of a head start to pull this off.

  
If the roof door wasn't locked, that is.

  
\----

  
He skidded to a halt and slammed his shoulder into the door in front of him, expecting it to be locked, because that was the way life worked.

  
It was.

  
“Fuck,” Iwaizumi growled out, hearing the jingling footsteps of the security guard near.

  
They had nothing else to do except hold back crowds and check passes. Iwaizumi couldn't blame them for being excited about chasing after somebody who'd more or less broken into the neighbouring building.

  
He wished he’d be a little less enthusiastic, though.

  
He realised that initially he shouldn't have ran - if he had just pretended to be a worker or something, it could've worked better. Running looked suspicious, and suspicion was probably the only reason that he was following him now.

  
Maybe if he talked to him and explained that he needed to get into the stadium, if they’d only help him inside the stadium he wouldn't cause any more trouble.

  
Well, the last bit was a lie.

  
Iwaizumi shoved his shoulder against the door again in desperation, jarring the door handle to and fro.

  
“Damn it…”

  
Blowing out a breath, Iwaizumi stepped back and the handle in his hands followed him, the door swinging open.

  
Oh.

  
It was a pull door.

  
Iwaizumi chose not to berate his stupidity immediately, due to very bad timing. He raced through the door and felt the wind like a wolf, snapping at his clothing and biting his skin. Only glimpsing the skyline before whirling around, Iwaizumi whipped out the duct tape - so, so useful - and secured the handle.

  
Then he turned his attention to the edge of the rooftop, and beyond that, the roof of the stadium. It was sloped up towards the middle, and the smooth, modern metal looked dangerously slippery.

Iwaizumi strode to the edge of the roof, placing one foot on the outcropping as he studied the terrain in front of him. No windows - if there were, he could've just hung from the edge of the roof and smashed it in with his feet, toppling into the room. In a way, he was glad. He didn't want to destroy anything more than he needed to.

  
There. Iwaizumi’s eyes focused in on a white bump, about halfway to the apex of the roof. It looked like a maintenance shaft - he couldn't be sure from here, but it was worth a damn shot.

  
A squeaky crackling broke out behind him, the door and duct tape being jerked around furiously.

  
“What are you even doing up here?!”

  
“Sorry,” Iwaizumi called back loudly, hoping his words weren't lost in the wind. “I'll be off the roof in a minute.”

  
There was a pause, and Iwaizumi realised that he mightn't have picked the best way to describe it.

  
“Listen, mate, we all go through rough patches, but please-”

  
Iwaizumi didn't bother sticking around to hear the rest. Taking a deep, dense breath, he backed up swiftly, right around the width of the roof. His heels hit the surrounding block of concrete, and he bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, trying to convince himself that this would work out. Doubts began harrowing grooves into his thoughts, and he shook his head, physically trying to detach their grip. He thought of Oikawa, and the doorknob rattled louder, the security guard’s clammering protests increasing in desperation.

  
He set off from the ball of his right foot, gaining as much speed as he possibly could, gaze never faltering, feet steady, legs flexing powerfully beneath him.  
He judged the strides to the edge, and realised he should've done that beforehand - the way he was going now, he'd have to take off even before the edge of the rooftop. Lengthening his pace, Iwaizumi barely had a second to readjust his estimate before the bridge of his foot hit the corner of the concrete rim, and then, with all the force he could muster, he launched himself forwards.  
There was a moment of soaring, the illusion of weightlessness, but it passed quickly. His left foot met cold metal, and began to slip.

  
He scrabbled, bending forwards, hands frantically attempting to grip onto the slick side.

  
_Don't look back don't look back don't look_

  
Glancing over his shoulder, he found that he had already slid a foot down from where he'd landed, and nearby, the harsh line of a sharp dropoff loomed.

  
“Fuck,” Iwaizumi hissed, urgently trying to gain traction on the gently sloping surface.

  
He was fortunate that the incline wasn't any steeper, because he wouldn't have managed to clamber up to the bump he saw earlier otherwise. Hanging onto the side of the squarish, raised hatch, Iwaizumi’s eyes skimmed over it, confirming his original theory. It was an exit to the roof - the only problem was that he doubted it was designed to be unlocked from the outside. Maybe it wasn't locked? Maybe he'd have a lucky break?

  
Running his hands along the edges, Iwaizumi found what he was looking for - two latches, clamped onto the upper half of the square, holding on the top. With a bit of effort, he popped them open, and lifted. A grating noise rose to his ears, the metal shivering in his palms as he pushed it upwards, revealing an opening with the top of a ladder in it.

  
Jackpot.

  
Slinging his legs into the gap, Iwaizumi’s feet found the rungs easily, his hands gripping either side of the hatch as he lowered himself down. He gave himself one last look up at the grey sky, hoping he didn't find a locked, sturdy door at the end of the ladder. Reaching up a hand, he closed the top of the hatch over his head, and began making his way downwards.

  
\---

  
Oikawa felt his fingers ache.

  
His eyes darted around skittishly, unnecessary and distracting details flickering in his mind, like the coach’s expression when his serve got picked up, or the hope and confusion mingled together in Kageyama’s gleaming eyes.  
The ball was coming, and Oikawa swiftly positioned himself beneath it, phantom pain pulsing in his fingers as he extended them deftly upwards.

  
He was shaky, so he sent it to the ace.

  
Ushijima slammed it right at the opponents’ setter, who could only ensure that none of his vital organs were hit, never mind receive it. It smacked right against his collarbone and shot off to the side, skimming over the floor safely a few moments later. Even Oikawa winced in sympathy. That was going to leave a bruise.

  
Japan served, and the opponents’ synchronised attack had them disorganised, blockers thin and uncertain. The ball was intercepted by someone's chest, Yaku following up to send it skewing across the air.

  
“Oikawa, get the last!”

  
He dove for it, sent it back perfectly, and landed less than elegantly, limbs smattering everywhere. His knee clattered off the smooth wood.

  
He almost screamed.

  
His palms met the floor too late, his rapid gasps just about masking over his pain, mistaken for breathlessness. Everyone around him was focused on the ball, the opponents setting up to attack. He couldn't afford to lie here uselessly. He managed to scramble upright, his left leg bearing almost all of his weight, and return to the front line just as the enemy spiker’s arm shot out. He delivered a powerful cut shot, ball spinning towards Oikawa, who could only throw his arms up in front of his face to stop himself from getting smashed directly in the face.

  
The force of it jerked Oikawa's upper body backwards, forcing him to take an abrupt step backwards.

  
The whistle blew, and Oikawa cursed, lowering his stinging forearms. Yaku picked himself back up from where he'd fallen trying to save the ball, and glowered across the net.

  
“That was low. You don't aim straight for someone's face.”

  
“I should've been ready to receive it,” Oikawa told him wearily. “It doesn't matter about the tactics used, a point is a point.”

  
He glanced at the scoreboard. 8 - 14, Japan - USA.

  
He clicked his tongue, displeased, and got back into position to receive as the ocean of voices, waves of support propelled them forwards.

  
“Ushijima!”

  
“Nice one, Yaku!”

  
Oikawa was so absorbed in the match that he didn't see the disturbance in the stands, one lone man shovelling his way through the spectators. He didn't notice Iwaizumi swing over the stands, hang onto the edge by his fingertips before dropping down the last few metres into a skilful roll. He did notice the angry noise of new footsteps sprinting across the court, and turned just in time to see Iwaizumi shove the coach aside and storm over to Oikawa, ignoring everyone else.

  
The ball clumped to the court, forgotten. The players stood, frozen with shock - the viewers in the stands, some shouting abuse, some completely confused, some silent and curious as to why this man was striding towards the new setter. Security called and scrambled for the entrances through the mobs of people all now on their feet, all straining for a glimpse of the drama.

  
What struck Oikawa first about Iwaizumi was the sheer block of determination in his eyes.

  
It was also the only thing he had time to notice before he was jerked forwards roughly, Iwaizumi's fist balled up tight in his damp jersey.

  
"What, exactly, do you think you're doing?" Iwaizumi's voice was low, laced with heavy breaths. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

  
"I'm setting in a game, which I'd really like to get back to," Oikawa tried to explain through a clenched throat. "I know what I'm doing. Exactly what I'm doing."

  
His words convinced nobody, least of all Iwaizumi.

  
"No. No, you don't. You can't possibly think that damaging your already fucked-up knee further, drinking all your bitter sorrows into oblivion and _HIDING ALL OF IT FROM ME_ was a good idea. Now, I’ll ask again. What the _FUCK_ do you think you're doing?"

  
Iwaizumi was yelling now, the sound of his voice breaking like a tsunami over the silent city of the stadium.

  
Oikawa flinched, Iwaizumi's anger causing his chest to constrict with a pain rivalling his knee's. He'd known that there was a possibility of Iwaizumi finding out, but he'd never thought that it would be this bad.

  
"I'm helping you!" Oikawa defended himself, wincing inwardly. "We need the money, Iwa-chan! Be realistic!"

  
"I don't give a shit about the money," Iwaizumi growled out. "Not if it's hurting you this much. Grow the fuck up, Oikawa. I care about you much more than whatever you earn - why didn't you get a regular job?! Why do you always have to be so fucking-"

  
Iwaizumi broke off, letting out a growl of utter frustration. One fist slammed against the side of his own thigh, and Oikawa jumped at the sudden smacking sound.

  
_Don't be stupid he wouldn't- he isn't -_

  
"I'm sorry," Oikawa whispered, and his voice split, sincere guilt crackling through it. "I'm sorry for lying to you, I hated it but I knew you'd be against it-"

  
"Then why did you carry through with it?!"

  
Iwaizumi's voice was so harsh, so accusing, that Oikawa felt his shoulders close up around his ears and his fingers scrabble at his shorts.

  
"If I gathered enough, then you wouldn't have to work so much anymore," Oikawa said, hating the way his voice cracked at the edges like an old, weathered letter. "For a while, at least. Imagine all the time we'd have together-"

  
"Imagine all the time we'd have if I came home and for once you weren't fucking off your face," Iwaizumi snapped back, and, to his utmost horror, Oikawa felt tears, tears of shame and frustration, building up.

  
Iwaizumi must've seen it too, for he released his hold on Oikawa's jersey, his brow relaxing just a bit. Unbalanced and unprepared, Oikawa stumbled backwards a step, his right leg momentarily bearing all his weight. Pain screeched up his thigh, and his legs crumbled beneath him.

  
He felt Iwaizumi's fingertips brush past the front of his shirt, just short of pulling him back to his feet.

  
His own reflexive grab for Iwaizumi failed, dumping him abruptly on the court with a short, strangled cry. He stayed there, not wanting to lift his gaze from Iwaizumi's red-striped runners. He could feel all those stares piling onto him like thick, crude oil smothering water, and he hunched up his shoulders, his teammates gradually circling closer, his opponents staring. Oikawa dropped his face into his hands, trying to slip his mask back into place, trying to work up the courage to stand up and smoothly laugh the incident off, to convince Iwaizumi to wait until the match was over to confront him. He couldn't manage it. The act wouldn't slide into place, it was as ill-fitting as a toddler attempting to force a triangular block into a circular hole. It wouldn't work.

  
He just wanted them all to disappear.

  
One set of iron eyes bore into the back of Oikawa's neck, and Oikawa drew his arms in close to his chest, feeling like he was five again, waiting in fear to see if his test results were going to be good enough for his father. He swallowed, and the tears made an appearance, springing up into the corners of his eyes, seeping into the creases. He had messed up the game, in turn lost whatever respect his father had left for him, his knee hurt like fuck, he wanted a drink so badly his throat ached and now Iwa-chan was furious at him for lying to him. Oikawa felt small, smaller than he ever had before.

  
He wanted to disappear.

  
Iwaizumi crouched down to his level, and his hand clasped around Oikawa's softly, evidence of his dissipating anger. His chest tightened in empathy, able to read Oikawa so, so easily. The last of his impromptu rage flitted away as freely as a leaf clinging to a gale. He couldn't possibly keep berating him when he was like this.

  
"Hey," he began gently. "I'm sorry I interrupted your game, but I couldn't stand by and do nothing."

  
Oikawa hiccupped, blinking fast. He couldn't care less about the game at this point. It was too much. His ability to cope simply wasn't there anymore.

  
"I want to go home," Oikawa whispered out, and Iwaizumi felt his heart break.

  
"Yeah. Yeah, we're going to go home now. Hang on."

  
Iwaizumi didn't even bother offering Oikawa a hand up. He shifted closer and simply scooped Oikawa up into his arms, whose trembling legs wrapped around his waist and arms clinging on around his neck. Iwaizumi supported the backs of his thighs, crossing his forearms underneath him at about the height of his own hips. He straightened up with a grunt of effort, Oikawa's shuddering chest pressing hard to his. Oikawa made no sound of protest, only burying his face into the gap between Iwaizumi's neck and his own shoulder, as if he could hide from the thousands of spectators and his father that way.

  
"Iwaizumi," came a deep voice, and Iwaizumi turned to Ushijima, the rest of the team standing behind him.

  
Oikawa didn't react.

  
"Take care of him," he said simply, and Iwaizumi saw Yaku nodding seriously in the background, along with Kageyama, along with a short ginger, along with a curly-haired man with a mask over his mouth, along with others Iwaizumi didn't recognise, but it was the whole team nodding, nodding in agreement. Even the coach gave a short, sharp incline of his head.

  
“We can take care of things here. Go.”

  
Iwaizumi nodded back surely, and then continued on his way, cradling Oikawa close in his straining arms.

  
\---

  
By the time the security guards reached them, Iwaizumi told them the same thing he'd told everyone else.

  
"He wanted to go home, so I'm bringing him home."

  
Then he brushed right by them, and the utter strangeness of the situation caused them to give in to inaction. It wasn't as if Iwaizumi had stolen or damaged anything, after all (they weren't sure if a player counted or not) Then Ushijima walked up to them and asked him to please excuse the intrusion, and could they get off the court, they were delaying the game. That cinched it for them, and they cleared off.

  
\---

  
"Can you walk?" Iwaizumi asked him gently as they exited through the back entrance of the stadium.

  
He didn't want to draw any crowds. He wasn't sure if Oikawa could handle them. Some stray fangirls had wandered down after them, but a few curt words from Iwaizumi had been more than enough to deter them.

  
Oikawa mutely shook his head, and Iwaizumi hefted him up further, feeling his chest inflating against his unsteadily. "I'll carry you for a little while longer then."

  
His arms were screeching at him to drop the heavy, damp mass already, but his heart whispered to never let go of him. His heart's voice was a lot louder, so Iwaizumi ploughed on, ignoring the dull ache in his limbs. He could handle it.

  
\---

  
Iwaizumi headed to the nearest bus stop.  
He didn't want to. His mouth was dry and his tongue was stuck to the top of his mouth and his heart was pulsating painfully in his chest, but he couldn't possibly carry Oikawa all the way home.  
He'd have to get on a bus.

  
He supposed he could give Oikawa the money he had and let him get on by himself, but the thought frightened Iwaizumi more than the memories.  
Don't think of it, he willed himself, but his stomach was lurching back and forth within him, bile forming, thick and nasty, at the back of his throat.

  
Don't think of Shou.  
It was six years ago. He should be over it by now.

  
Iwaizumi stopped in the middle of the street, certain for a moment he was about to throw up. People streamed past them as Oikawa raised his head, voice quiet in Iwaizumi's ear.

  
“Call Mattsun.”

  
Oikawa suddenly pushed away from Iwaizumi, and he slid out of Iwaizumi's grasp, landing on his feet and stumbling backwards a step.

  
“Tooru, are you sure you're-”

  
“I'm fine.”

  
He refused to meet Iwaizumi's gaze.  
Iwaizumi swallowed and dove for his phone with relieved, shaking fingers, feeling finally flowing back into his arms. His thumb slipped on the screen, sweat messing up the touches, and Iwaizumi tried to steady himself.

  
Why hadn't he thought of Mattsun? He'd bring Oikawa home safe. Alone, but safe. Undoubtedly safe. Car accidents were rare, and the fatal ones were even rarer, and so there was nothing to worry about and - _why couldn't he unlock his goddamn phone?!_

  
He could feel Oikawa's eyes regarding him, likely suspicious why he was so...off.

  
“You don't like cars,” Oikawa said suddenly.

  
Iwaizumi unlocked his phone and swiftly got Matsukawa’s number up. He nodded stiffly, not raising his gaze from the phone. Sometimes he forgot that Oikawa could read him as well as he could read him.

  
“I'll run home after you.”

  
“I don't want you to.”

  
“I can't carry you home, and you can't walk home. We don't exactly have any other choice.”

  
“Then where were you going before this?”

  
“Bus stop.”

  
“Then let’s get a bus.”

  
“I'd rather walk.”

  
“I can't walk.”

  
“I didn't say ‘we’. Get in the car with Matsukawa.”

  
Oikawa's eyes flared. “Don't order me about. I know what I want to do.”

  
“You're the one who said to call him.”

  
“Because I thought you'd be getting in with me!”

  
“What does it matter?” Iwaizumi asked lowly. “We need to talk, not be attached at the goddamn hip.”

  
Oikawa's jaw clenched, and he dropped his head, fingers quietly, dismally clutching around some tufts of fluffy hair.

“Fine,” he said roughly, and Iwaizumi finally realised that he still wasn't steady after what happened on the court.

  
Stepping forwards, Iwaizumi carefully tilted Oikawa's chin upwards with his hand. “Just get home safe, and I'll be right there.”

  
Oikawa sighed gently, eyelashes fluttering closed briefly. “Are you still mad at me?”

  
“I'm putting that on hold for the moment,” Iwaizumi told him, eyes darting down to Oikawa's leg. “Let’s just go home first, alright?”

  
Oikawa inhaled slowly, and his fingers twitched by his sides, as if wanting to touch Iwaizumi, but afraid to. He turned his face away, and Iwaizumi’s hand fell back down to his side.

  
“I should tell you that I don't regret it,” Oikawa told him, voice ablaze.

  
The corners of Iwaizumi’s mouth tightened, and he glanced around them, at the people dotting the street. “Leave that until later, alright?”

  
Oikawa gave him a half-hearted, worn shrug. “Let’s just get on a fucking bus already.”

  
Iwaizumi hadn't been on a bus in six years. His shoulders tensed up, palms sweating as he curled up his fingers tightly. “Can't you go with Matsukawa?”

  
His voice came out defensive, and he winced. Oikawa only shook his head.  
“I don’t want to go with Mattsun.”

  
“Stop being stupid,” Iwaizumi snapped out. “Go with him and I’ll run back home, then you need to explain why you thought it’d be a great idea to lie to me.”

  
Oikawa’s lips grew thin, diminishing under the pressure. “I’m not being stupid.”

  
Iwaizumi inhaled sharply, then exhaled just as heavily, striding forwards and grasping Oikawa’s wrist. “Fine. Since you’re being so fucking stubborn we’ll take the bus.”

  
Oikawa tore his wrist free of Iwaizumi’s grip and tried to follow him, his grimace evident with every step. Blowing out a sigh, Iwaizumi strode into Oikawa’s personal space, ignoring his twisted expression, and slung an arm around his waist, hoisting some of his weight onto his hip.

  
“Come on,” Iwaizumi told him, staring straight into his face.

  
Iwaizumi much preferred the honest annoyance he saw engraved harshly in his soft features than the false happiness he usually plastered all over them, but it still stung. Oikawa turned his head away, but his arm snaked around Iwaizumi’s shoulders, clasping tightly.

  
They limped onwards, and before long Iwaizumi was studying the timetable at the back of the bus shelter, Oikawa stiffly seated on the bench.

  
“Ten minutes.”

  
Iwaizumi went and leaned against the other side of the shelter, maintaining his personal space like a stranger would. Oikawa's throat grew tight, but he forced himself to stare straight ahead, arms wrapping around his bare shoulders. Goosebumps were beginning to ribbon across his arms now that they were no longer moving, and Oikawa gritted his teeth, body hunching in on itself to attempt to stop a shiver breaking out over his skin.

  
After a few moments, he heard an exasperated, quiet sigh, a quick step, weighty cloth rounding his shoulders, and Iwaizumi’s scent rising like smoke off the material. He didn't look up as Iwaizumi retreated back to his corner of the shelter, fingers digging into the yielding fabric. God, he wanted to throw it on the ground. He didn't need or want Hajime taking care of him constantly.

  
He also wanted to kiss him.

  
But he was cold and pissed off, so he simply slipped the jacket on - loose, but that was undeniably endearing - and stayed silent. His fingers etched restless curves into his knee pads, lusting for a cigarette, his phone, any distraction at all to remove him from the stifling atmosphere. He'd left everything back at the stadium locker room. He couldn't even check the time, and so he had no idea if time was actually drifting past as slowly as it seemed to.

  
“Money?” He questioned eventually.

  
“Should have enough,” was Iwaizumi’s short, blunt answer.

  
Oikawa half-nodded absently, swallowing thickly. He should work out what to say to him once they got home, but he really had no explanation. He had been afraid of Iwaizumi not letting him join the team again - Oikawa would've regardless, but Iwaizumi wouldn't have liked it and that would've created bad feelings and now they've ended up with even more conflict because Oikawa straight-up deceived him and god, how did he ever think he could've gotten away with that huge of a lie?

  
Oikawa's thoughts were running faster now, derailing off-course, crashing and snowballing around in his mind as they waited.

  
He had fucked up, hadn't he?

  
His jaw clenched. He still didn't regret what he did - it was all to help Iwaizumi, all of it. Well, maybe not the excessive drinking, but Oikawa had definitely seen that part coming. There was no way he could've seen Kageyama and Ushijima on his court and coped with it with...he didn't know. Fucking exercise or something. How did regular people deal with stuff like that without drowning themselves into brute oblivion?

  
Oikawa almost jolted when the noise of an engine cut across his thoughts. The doors folded open, and Iwaizumi hopped past him, exchanging a few quick words with the driver. He glanced back at Oikawa.

  
“He's stopping off near our apartment. Get on.”

  
Oikawa obeyed wordlessly as Iwaizumi paid, managing to swing down into a seat just before the bus jerked underneath his feet. Luckily, the bus was nearly empty, and his uniform was mostly covered by Iwaizumi’s jacket, so he went unrecognised. Tilting his head, he leaned his temple against the vibrating window, vacantly staring out at the passing buildings, watching Iwaizumi pick a seat across the aisle, opposite him out of the corner of his eye.

  
He rotated his head slightly, and saw that Iwaizumi’s hands were shaking.

  
Oh.

  
Oikawa lurched to his feet, closed the gap of the aisle with one stride, and sat down beside Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi's hands were balled up in his jeans, anxiously clenching and releasing, his shoulders high and tight.

  
Oikawa may be petty, but he wasn't that petty.

  
When his fingers slid gently over Iwaizumi's fist, he half-expected him to shake it off, reprimand him for trying, but no. His tense fingers didn't loosen up, but instead grabbed Oikawa's hand quickly, fearfully, as if he was afraid he'd change his mind. Iwaizumi’s gaze was fixated to the back of the seat ahead of him, refusing to look out the window - or at Oikawa.

  
They stayed like that for the whole trip, and by the end, Oikawa couldn't feel his hand.

  
\----

  
The elevator ride up was suffocating.

  
Oikawa fidgeted with the sleeve edges, avoiding glancing at the mirror, or Iwaizumi. Instead, his gaze was paralysed on his hands, trying to resist the urge to pick apart the sturdy threads of the seams. It wasn't his - he couldn't indulge himself in his nervous habit now.  
His lips felt raw, like they were bleeding, but when he passed the back of his hand across his mouth, no smears showed up. He felt Iwaizumi's uncomfortable shifting beside him, hands curled deep in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.

  
Unable to bear it any more, Oikawa spun towards him, his entangled fingers convulsing into knots. His cheeks flushed a cheap pink, fears hauling the words out of his chest.

  
“You're not - you're not going to break up with me, are you?” He blurted out, and Iwaizumi's gaze flickered over to him, but otherwise his expression didn't change.

  
“No,” he said after a long moment, and left it at that, eyes leaving Oikawa.

  
Oikawa's mouth opened, then shut, and then the elevator doors dinged, whatever he was going to say vaporising on his lips.

  
\---  
Iwaizumi helped Oikawa down the hallway and into a kitchen seat, then splintered away from his side. He dawdled by the counter for a second, fingernails scraping down the side of his jeans.

  
“Can…”

  
Oikawa's voice was weak, faltering, faint, and he swallowed rapidly, trying again.  
“Can you get me a glass of water?”

  
Iwaizumi mutely filled one up and thumped it down in front of him, sliding into a seat opposite Oikawa. He downed the water gratefully, under Iwaizumi’s intense gaze, then lowered the glass.

  
Neither of them said anything.

  
Iwaizumi was the first one to break the silence.

  
“Why did you lie to me?”

  
Oikawa could see the tenseness of his jaw, the slight narrowness of his eyes. Iwaizumi was angry at him, and understandably so, but his voice was even.

  
Oikawa pulled down the jacket sleeve over his hand, eyes darting briefly to meet Iwaizumi's, then away again. “I didn't want to, you have to understand that. But I thought that you'd - you'd know that I'd drink more and make my knee worse and I knew you wouldn't approve of it. That's why I went behind your back.”

  
Iwaizumi blew out a breath, ducking his head to run his fingers back through his hair roughly. “Agreed. You shouldn't be doing something that has this bad of an effect on you.”

  
Defensiveness surged up in Oikawa at his dismayed, disappointed tone. He leaned forwards, tapping his finger sharply against the tabletop.

  
“Iwa-chan, I did it to help you.”

  
“I don't need taking care of,” Iwaizumi snapped back. “I've-”

  
“Yes, yes, I know you've handled yourself for years but you've had no time to yourself!” Oikawa shot back, his voice rising, bordering thinly on a shout.“You only work and work and you haven't done anything that you wanted to do-”

  
“Not true. I'm with you because I wanted to be, aren't I? So don't tell me that I'm the one not taking care of myself,” Iwaizumi spat back, his hands closing around air on the table as he glared at Oikawa.

  
“Oh, so a few drinks and suddenly I'm not taking care of myself? It's not like I go out anymore or-”

  
“It's more than a fucking ‘few drinks,’ Oikawa!”

  
“It's none of your business how much I drink! It isn't even relevant to this, so drop it!”

  
Oikawa's voice heightened and heightened, the end of his sentence shrill and strained, like an old, weathered rubber band that only need another millimetre stretch to break.

  
Iwaizumi’s mouth opened again, and Oikawa gritted his teeth, ready to argue back fiercely.

  
A knocking interrupted Iwaizumi, and the sound welled deep in their ears, making both of them swivel around to face the hallway door.

  
“Who-”

  
“I'll get it,” Iwaizumi cut across him, and Oikawa's face soured at his rudeness, folding his arms across his chest as Iwaizumi disappeared through the doorway.

  
\---

  
Iwaizumi didn't know who the man was.  
His hair was thinning, but neatly combed, his tall form gathered and controlled. When Iwaizumi opened the door cautiously, he showed no unease. Maybe Oikawa's landlord- no, that wasn't possible, remember? His apartment was owned by -

  
“Hello,” he greeted, offering out his hand.  
Iwaizumi took it to be civil, then dropped it a second later. He wasn't exactly in the mood for visitors.

  
“Who’re you?” Iwaizumi asked flatly.

  
“Tooru’s father.”

  
Iwaizumi stiffened.

  
“I assume I have the correct apartment? Who are you?"

  
"I'm Oikawa's roommate," Iwaizumi told him curtly. "What do you want?"

  
"To see my son without being interviewed, if that's too much to ask."

  
Iwaizumi only stared at him coolly.

  
"I want to see how he is."

  
"He's doing just fine, thanks for stopping by."

  
Iwaizumi attempted to swing the door shut, but a foot jammed into the gap between the door and the frame, and Iwaizumi swore under his breath. His face loomed towards the space, eyes demanding Iwaizumi to open the door.

  
"I need to speak with him, boy. So if you'd just let me inside, this'll be a lot easier."

His tone was no longer cordial, and Iwaizumi's gut clenched. 

  
"He's resting," Iwaizumi told him. "I'll tell him you dropped by."

  
He put more pressure on the door, and he had to be feeling a dull ache on his foot by now, but there was no change in his expression at all, not even an irregular blink.

  
"You know, I don't seem to remember agreeing to board another person in my apartment," he said slowly. "Maybe you should ask Tooru to come out and discuss it with me, because somehow I don't like the idea of having a freeloader living in my place."

  
"That doesn't concern him," Iwaizumi said evenly. “If you don't like it, we can sort it out now, right here.”

  
He could see realisation sink into the man as he watched, the realisation that Iwaizumi wasn't going to be budged an inch by self-preservation.

  
He heard Oikawa patter into the hallway behind him, and he cursed inwardly, one hand snaking around his back to frantically try and bat him away before his father saw him.

  
“Tooru,” came the command. “Come over here."

  
Iwaizumi half-turned around, fixing Oikawa’s wide eyes with a purposeful stare, and put even more pressure on the door. “Don't. I'll handle this.”

  
Oikawa's throat flexed as he swallowed harshly.

  
“I-”

  
“Oh, so you’ll handle me?”

  
The mocking statement was accompanied by a powerful shove on the door, and Iwaizumi, not expecting the massive force, almost stumbled backwards. Scowling, Iwaizumi resumed the blistering pressure, and this time he did let out an audible curse. He wasn't expecting him to be this damn strong.  
Oikawa's fingers curled up into fists, and he approached unsteadily, one hand propped against the wall for support.

“Iwa-chan, it’s okay. You can let him in.”

  
Iwaizumi’s eyes tracked Oikawa's face, and found nothing but hollow resignation, trepidation leaking into the wavering line of his mouth.

  
“No,” Iwaizumi told him.

  
Oikawa's lips opened, but before he could say anything his father's voice sliced through the air.

  
“Tomorrow will be too late, and since when did you control who my son can and cannot see? I'm his father.”

  
Oikawa gave Iwaizumi a desolate little smile. “It's fine. I'd rather get this over with.”

  
After a moment, Iwaizumi relented, stepping back from the door, allowing it to swing open. He glowered at the man. “Make it quick.”

  
“Thank you,” he said smoothly, palms rubbing down the front of his suit. “Tooru, a word. Alone.”

  
His needling eyes sped to Iwaizumi, who wordlessly didn't move.

  
“He's fine, Father,” Oikawa told him with the most wretched smile Iwaizumi had seen his lips twist into yet. “What is it?”

  
“Alone, if you please,” his father repeated, never even acknowledging Oikawa's presence or words, eyes locked on Iwaizumi.

  
Iwaizumi leaned back against the wall leisurely, folding his arms across his chest, and never dropped the eye contact for a second. His father eventually smiled thinly, turning to Oikawa.

  
“I thought you'd acquired a roommate, not a bodyguard.”

  
He let out a bellow as if this was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Oikawa politely gave a chuckle. Iwaizumi’s stoney expression didn't falter an inch, never cracking a millimetre.

  
“So, as delighted as I am about this surprise visit,” Oikawa started, upbeat and cheerful. “What are you here for?"

  
“My visit is hardly a surprise, is it?” He inquired, and Iwaizumi got the sense that he wasn't lying. “When some stranger bursts onto the court and kidnaps your son you tend to want to find out if he's alright, no?”

  
Oikawa shook his head. “Iwa-chan isn't a stranger, and I asked him to take me home.”

  
His father’s expression hardened. “You did? Why? Did you not take enough painkillers?”

  
Iwaizumi’s eyes narrowed, unsettlement coursing through him. Oikawa shouldn't be on the court at all, painkillers or no painkillers.

  
Oikawa hesitated, one hand tugging some strands of hair into disarray. “I did…” he began, pausing briefly to shred some more skin off of his lower lip. “They weren't really enough.”

  
“Then you should've planned for when they'd wear off and take more before then,” his father said sharply. “The issue with young men like you is that you never think ahead. Plan for events before they happen.”

  
“I'm sorry,” Oikawa responded numbly, and his fingers were damp, knotting in his hair.

  
“It's not like it'll happen again.”

  
Iwaizumi’s short contribution was unwelcome. Oikawa's father didn't even give any indication that he'd said anything, and Iwaizumi straightened up, having to bite into his lip to restrain himself. He didn't want to give Oikawa any unnecessary trouble with his father.

  
“Thanks for coming to my matches,” Oikawa said, a weak way to fill the silence.

  
His father nodded assuredly, as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out, glanced at it and frowned, typing out a leisurely reply, leaving Oikawa unanswered. Oikawa didn't say anything, Iwaizumi's gaze narrowed, shifting forwards to stand just behind Oikawa’s shoulder, waiting until he finished.  
With a stuffy little smile, his father put the phone away and finally offered his thoughts.

  
"I couldn't miss your big comeback. Because you are still going to make up for that little...slippage yesterday, aren't you?”

  
Iwaizumi wondered for a moment why he was using the present tense, but then it hit him. He wanted Oikawa to return, his son who couldn't even walk properly, to continue on with the game, and perform. His fingernails dug into his palms deeper.

  
"I don't want to go back," Oikawa said quietly.

  
"You're ruining your entire career. If you don't have volleyball, what do you have? You're barely hanging on in college - I know, I keep careful track of your marks - and a modelling career is uncertain and won't last anyway, so what are you going to do? I'm not about to sit back and watch you throw away everything you've worked so hard for. Your sister knew what she had, and she made the most of her life."

  
"I'll figure something out," Oikawa told him, lips pressed white together.

  
"No, you won't. Get back out there."

  
Oikawa wet his lips. "No."

  
"Do you know how much I've sacrificed to ensure you stay a professional? A hell of a lot more than you'll ever have, I'll tell you that. Now, listen to me. Go back. It's not too late to make up for your failures."

  
Oikawa's damp eyes shone, yet he lifted his chin, and spoke evenly. "No."

  
His father's hand shot out and slammed across Oikawa's cheek, powerfully enough to send him reeling to the side, to cause crimson to spurt onto the floor next to him, from where Iwaizumi didn't know.

  
All he knew was that his fist was cracking across the old man's jaw in the next instant. He staggered backwards, groans of pain pouring from his wrinkled lips, back out into the corridor.

  
"What-"

His eyes were wide, disbelief racing through his face. Iwaizumi doubted that anyone had ever dared brush against his shoulder before, nevermind aiming to break his jaw.

  
Iwaizumi didn't let him rattle in a single breath, lunging forwards and driving him back into the wall, forearm squeezing down on his throat. Iwaizumi pulled back his arm, every intention of pummelling the piece of shit, but then he felt something tug on his shirt.

  
"Hajime, don't, don't," Oikawa said, surprisingly calm for someone with a palm clamped over his face, red seeping through his pale fingers.

  
Iwaizumi's temper flared as soon as he saw him, his defeated eyes begging Iwaizumi to let it go, bypass his father's transgressions. Why, Iwaizumi had no idea in hell. This was justice, feeling his father's breath barely slide down to his lungs, eyes bulging, fingers pleading with him, clawing weakly at his arm.

  
"Tooru, I don't care if he's your father," Iwaizumi said, and it scared him, how even his voice was, how flatly certain he was of his actions. "I care even less about how powerful he is in business. Nobody can treat you that way."

  
Oikawa shook his head vigorously, causing a fresh dose of blood to pour through his fingers. It looked like it was coming from his nose. "You don't understand. You need to let him go, now. It'll only make everything worse if -" he cut himself off. "It's already bad, so stop it!"

  
Iwaizumi didn't get the chance to consider Oikawa's words. Pain flashed in his groin like a strike of lightning, and he fell back from the wall, gritting his teeth against the waves of agony. The bastard. Oikawa's father stepped forward, massaging his throat carefully, and glared at Iwaizumi, who was almost bent double. Iwaizumi's answering glower could've burnt a chasm in steel, but Oikawa's father was made of iron. He drew back his leg for another kick, and then Oikawa's back was filling Iwaizumi's field of view, one hand splayed out in front of him.

  
"Father, stop it!"

  
His voice was breaking up, like if you were slowly turning a tuning knob on the radio, the station growing more and more indistinguishable from the static.  
"You saw what he did to me," his father answered coldly, speaking thickly and with difficulty through his damaged jaw and raw throat. "I can't let him away with that, can I now?"

  
"Yes!" Oikawa pleaded. "For once in your life, let something go. He was only trying to help me-"

  
"Well, so am I," his father said starkly. "Apparently we have different ideas about what helps you."

  
The pain in Iwaizumi's balls began to subside, piece by piece, and he straightened up, eyes flaring. "It's alright, Tooru. Let him through. I think I can handle an old man."

  
"No!" Oikawa snapped back at him, voice strengthening. "No more fighting!"

  
Iwaizumi stared at the blood draining through his fingers, staining the top of his volleyball uniform, and clenched his fists. "I can't-"

  
"You can," Oikawa told him, gaze alight, and Iwaizumi blew out a breath.

  
His shoulders relaxed. If Oikawa really, really wanted him to stop, he would. He took his eyes off of his father.

  
"If you think so-"

  
He was stumbling backwards into the apartment before the pain even exploded behind his eyes, hands clutching his head. A solid hook to the temple, Iwaizumi realised, recognising the stabbing, sharp thudding.

  
Another sound echoed through the corridor, a loud slam, and Iwaizumi staggered back to the doorway, one hand pressed to the side of his spinning head.

If that shithole had hit Oikawa again, he swore to fuck-

  
Oikawa stood over his fallen father, his pupils wide and tiny pants escaping his lips. Iwaizumi stared in amazement, watching as his father's mouth clumped open jerkily, then shut again, hand covering the side of his face. He slowly got to his feet, eerily calm, and Oikawa flinched away on reflex, knowing the signs of pure, unrestrained rage.

  
"Get out."

  
His voice was raspy, and he raised a hand. Oikawa's body jolted backwards, but he caught himself a moment later, lifting his chin to meet his glare defiantly. Iwaizumi grasped Oikawa's arm, eyes never leaving the dangerous man in front of them.

  
"I gave you a chance, and you treat me like this?!" he snarled out. "Get out of my apartment. I want you two out by tomorrow. Noon. No more chances."

  
"Fine," Iwaizumi spat out. "I don't want to live in your fancy shithole of a place anyway."

  
"Iwa-chan," Oikawa warned, locking his fingers around Iwaizumi's wrist.

  
Iwaizumi's lips curled up, but he bit his tongue obediently. "We'll be gone."

  
Rubbing his jaw, Oikawa's father nodded, and spun around, stalking back down the corridor. Iwaizumi felt Oikawa tremble underneath his palm, and he turned to him, wiping some of the blood from his lips. His head still felt like the side was caved in, and his groin sent flashes of pain through him every time he shifted, but he had to tend to Oikawa first.

  
"Come on," he said quietly. "We'd better clean you up."

  
Oikawa nodded almost imperceptibly, vacant gaze still trailing the path of his father. His expression was hanging onto anticipation, bordering on fear, and Iwaizumi didn't know if he'd heard him at all.

  
"I shouldn't have done that," he whispered through bloody lips. "I should've gone back to the stadium, he's right, what am I going to do now-"

  
"Tooru, listen," Iwaizumi urged. "You're right. You're in no condition to compete right now. Don't listen to him. You said it, you'll figure something out. We both will," he finished, linking his hand through his.

  
Oikawa's shackled eyes creased up, mouth crumpling downwards helplessly. "But you still need the money. I have to go back."

  
"No, no, you don't," Iwaizumi reassured him quickly. "We'll think of something else, I promise."

  
Oikawa's father was out of sight, and yet Oikawa still stared emptily. A resident turned the corner and halted for an instant, confusion crossing their face before they quickly scarpered to their own place and slipped inside, minding their own business. Iwaizumi squeezed Oikawa's hand and tugged lightly, leading him back into the apartment.

  
"Tooru."

  
Oikawa blinked, once, twice, and then his eyes locked onto Iwaizumi, gaze tracing the rapidly darkening side of his face. "Oh my god, Iwa-chan, I'm so sorry-"

  
"It's not your fault," Iwaizumi told him firmly, pulling him inside the doorway and shutting it with a click. "Now let me have a look at your nose."

  
"I can clean it up myself," Oikawa mumbled, but Iwaizumi kept tugging him over into the kitchen, seating him down into the nearest chair.

  
"Is it broken?" Iwaizumi asked as he ripped some kitchen cloth down, dampening it under the tap.

  
"I don't think so," came the uncertain answer. "But it hurts like fuck."

  
"Wouldn't have guessed that," Iwaizumi commented wryly, stooping down to start to wipe off Oikawa's neck.

  
The flow had slowed to a trickle, and Oikawa brought his hand away from his face with a wince. "How bad is it? Has it ruined my beautiful face?"

  
"Let me clean the blood away first," Iwaizumi responded, dabbing as gently as he could around his nose.

  
Oikawa winced, swallowing down his moans of pain and clenching his jaw. He had to open his mouth to breathe, blood clogging up his nostrils uncomfortably.

  
“Does this mean you're not mad at me anymore?” Oikawa asked, tracking Iwaizumi’s movements through an almost cross-eyed gaze.

  
“No. I'm still angry at you for lying to me, but the fight’s postponed. Temporarily, because I still can't understand why you didn't just tell me,” Iwaizumi muttered back, and Oikawa could see his annoyance seething at the edge of his words.

  
Oikawa glanced away, and Iwaizumi kept softly wiping the blood off his skin mutely. Neither of them spoke for another few seconds.

  
"He must've been really angry," Oikawa mumbled. "To hit me in front of you."

  
"I'm glad I saw," Iwaizumi said fiercely. "If he hit you where I couldn't see, I would've-"

  
"Calm down, Iwa-chan! You look scary, and trust me, it doesn't work for your face." Oikawa released a nervous laugh, attempting to lighten up the mood. Iwaizumi didn't approve.

  
"Bruises don't work for your face either," Iwaizumi answered starkly, and Oikawa bit the inside of his unharmed cheek, ducking his face.

  
"Is it that bad?" he asked quietly.

  
"It's going to be pretty damn noticeable," Iwaizumi replied honestly.

  
Oikawa's skin was still matted with spots of dried blood here and there, hiding the true damage, but Iwaizumi could guess well enough.

  
"We'll say I bashed into a doorframe."

  
Iwaizumi's eyes flashed. "We'll tell them the truth."

  
"No. We can't."

  
"We can, and I will, to anyone who asks. To hell with your father."

  
"But, his reputation-"

  
"To hell with him, his reputation and his business," Iwaizumi repeated stubbornly. "I'm not covering for him. You can do what you want, but I'm not lying."

  
Iwaizumi brought the cloth down from Oikawa's swelling cheek, cursing his father. He'd hit him hard enough not only to undoubtedly cause rotten bruises to scar the area of impact, but to give Oikawa a nosebleed, too. His furious eyes traced Oikawa's forming wound, and Oikawa's own, meek eyes tracked his ever-changing expression.

  
"Put something cold on it," Oikawa suggested, low and mellow. "Just please stop staring. It's ugly, isn't it?"

  
It was ugly, but Iwaizumi wasn't about to say that. There was a hint of trepidation in Oikawa's voice that he didn't like, an unspoken fear. Oikawa didn't do ugly. He was always poised, well-dressed, handsome and quick off the mark with his smooth tongue. Ugly wasn't a part of him he allowed anyone to see.

  
"Hold on," Iwaizumi muttered, and he straightened up, bending over slightly so their faces were level.

  
He caught Oikawa's chin, tilting his pretty face to the side, and pressed his mouth to Oikawa's solidly, careful not to put any pressure on his nose or cheek. The kiss was shallow and sweet, no more than the brief meeting of lips, but it got Iwaizumi's meaning across.

  
He said it anyway when he pulled back.

  
"Don't worry about it. Something like that could never make you ugly."

  
In Oikawa's stunned silence, Iwaizumi straightened up and left for the freezer. He kneeled down and rustled around a bit, then returned with a long-forgotten bag of frozen peas, a damp cloth circling it. Bending down in front of Oikawa, he held it up to his cheek, eying up the large patch of throbbing red. Oikawa hissed out a breath of tender pain through his teeth, and Iwaizumi's expression darkened.

  
"It's okay," Oikawa told him softly, placing his hand over his.

  
Iwaizumi opened his mouth to dispute - it wasn't okay, it really wasn't - but Oikawa spoke first, locking their gazes and fingers together.

  
"Thank you."

  
Iwaizumi swallowed hard, nodding. He didn't say anything, but Oikawa's words had done their work - his features had lost the harsh edge of hate, and concern was seeping through instead. Oikawa hadn't liked the look of the stony loathing on Iwaizumi's usually stern - but mild - features at all.

  
It scared him a little, if he was being honest to himself.

  
Pulling up a chair to sit in front of him, Iwaizumi left Oikawa to hold the pack against his cheek and set to work again, cleaning off every splatter of blood he could find. He couldn't really do anything about the blood soaked into the front neckline of Oikawa's uniform, but he had a good stab at it.

  
Perhaps it was the injuries, or blood loss, or the mental exhaustion, or maybe the fact that they were so utterly screwed and without any idea of what to do next, but they began laughing. It started with Oikawa, cracking a hopeless, humourless smile as Iwaizumi patted the last of the blood off of his neck. Glancing up, Iwaizumi absorbed the image, then his mouth curled upwards in an equally flat smile, letting out a snort. Maybe because the idea of smiling in this situation was so absurd, maybe because he couldn't help himself. Oikawa responded with a low chuckle, and the resulting laughter might've just been because they needed to laugh.

  
Iwaizumi set down the cloth, light green eyes almost invisible, his chest rocking back and forth, hands clasping around Oikawa's with a tenderness that banished all the cold out of Oikawa's bones. Oikawa, his free, unassuming, melodic laughter rolling through the air, leaned his forehead against Iwaizumi's, and left it there.

  
If you had asked either of them later what they were laughing about, neither could've told you. Oikawa would've covered up the memory hole by telling you it was, of course, his excellent sense of humour. Iwaizumi would've simply shrugged away the question, regarding the moment too erratic and strangely intimate to discuss.

  
It was definitely not just because the author couldn't think of a joke.

  
"We're totally screwed, aren't we?" Oikawa asked lightly, catching his breath.  
He'd lost his home, any good relations left with his father, and very possibly his place on the team, and he somehow suspected it would be difficult to get a modelling job with a massive bruise on the side of his face.

  
"Pretty much," Iwaizumi answered, then shrugged. He still had his jobs. "At least we've got each other."

  
Oikawa gave him a bitter little smile. "That's all we have."

  
The truth of the statement struck both of them heavily, and they fell silent.

  
"What if we just stayed?" Iwaizumi questioned finally. "I mean...he couldn't throw us out by force, and I'm pretty sure to chuck us out legally he'd need a valid reason, along with a lot more notice."

  
"He wouldn't throw us out by force on his own," Oikawa replied glumly. "He'd just hire someone to do the job for him. And I don't want you getting injured any more."

  
Iwaizumi sighed, raking a hand back through his hair. "I'm going to ask Kuroo if we can stay with him and Kenma until we find a new place."

  
"That bitch-brushhead? Forget it, I'm not staying with him," Oikawa huffed out. "We're going to turn up on Mattsun's doorstep, and they better take us in. They owe me a lot of favours, and I'm going to cash in all of them."

  
"Hanamaki and Matsukawa? Really?" Iwaizumi queried, forehead rumpling slightly. "I don't know if my sanity can take it."

  
Oikawa dismissed his concerns with an airy wave. "I'll get them to leave us alone. Plus, it's not as if we'll be there very often."

  
Iwaizumi's gaze sharpened, as did his voice. "We? You mean you'll be out too?"

  
"I'm not quitting the team yet, Iwa-chan. I need that salary, especially now as we'll be paying rent in the future. That is, if the coach doesn't kick me out for the upheaval today."

  
Iwaizumi's jaw welded shut, and he spoke through gritted teeth. "I'll take on extra hours. You can't go back. You know it'll only make things worse."

  
"To state the obvious, I don't want you to collapse again," Oikawa informed him, fingers twitching around the packet of peas. "You're already working eight to five, sometimes longer. Let me take some of the burden."

  
"It's not your burden to carry!” Iwaizumi snapped out, abrupt and loud, then caught himself, exhaling gradually. "Sorry."

  
"It's fine," Oikawa muttered, but Iwaizumi could tell he was shaken. His expression softened, leaning forward with his elbows propped on his knees, and took Oikawa's hand in his.

  
“I'm sorry. I understand why you didn't tell me why you went back to the team,” he said gently, stroking his thumb down the side of Oikawa's hand. “You thought I wouldn't let you go, right?”

  
Oikawa nodded, gaze drifting to the side. “If you didn't know about my knee, I would've told you, but…” his teeth gnawed on the edge of his lip, exhaling with a quiet sigh. “I honestly didn't think that I'd get so...difficult.” He let out a bitter chortle. “I'm the one who should be apologising, aren't I? I know I'm not the easiest to live with, or be with…”

  
His voice dragged on until it faded, ashamed, as if wondering why Iwaizumi was still here at all. Iwaizumi leaned his lips against Oikawa's hand, closed his eyes, and kept up his slow massage of Oikawa's hand.

  
“You're not,” Iwaizumi murmured. “And I don't care.”

  
Oikawa's gaze was downcast, his fingers twisting closed around Iwaizumi's. “You will eventually.”

  
“I would if you kept on like this for years,” Iwaizumi said truthfully. “But I know you don't want to do that, and neither do I.”

  
“I don't, but I don't know if I can help it. And you - you're so...simple. I mean that in the complementary way. For once. Savour it, it's not going to happen again.”

  
Oikawa gave him a weak smile, and Iwaizumi quietly swiped his thumb across the side of his hand.

  
“Listen, Tooru. Nobody is easy to be with. Sometimes I'll be hard to be with, and you'll find me endlessly frustrating. A good relationship doesn't mean it's always going to be easy.”

  
Balancing the peas on his leg, Oikawa outstretched his other hand and touched Iwaizumi's cheek, the back of his fingers chill against skin, yet they burned. When he spoke, it was quiet.

  
“I know that. I just…” his voice faltered for a moment, “I've never wanted to make anything work as much as this, and I'm terrified that my best won't be enough.”

  
Iwaizumi smiled at him lovingly, loosening his hold on Oikawa's hand with one last kiss. “Then that makes two of us.”

  
Oikawa's eyes creased up. “I - Hajime, I -"

  
His fingers clenched shut around his knee, the words stumbling in his throat under Iwaizumi's patient gaze. His lips froze, icy uncertainty arching over the pale pink of his flustered mouth.

  
“Can… can you get me a drink?” He asked, then added an insincere wreck of a smile his fanciers would adore.

  
Iwaizumi’s eyebrows drew down in suspicion, knowing full well that that wasn't what Oikawa had set out to say. There was an awkward moment where Iwaizumi didn't reply, obviously dawdling between accepting Oikawa's words at face value - never a good idea - and pushing for his actual intentions.

  
“Is that what you really wanted to say?” he asked him finally, straightening up in his chair.

  
Oikawa felt cold without Iwaizumi's hands. He offered him a pacifying smile, opting for, “l’ll tell you another time, I promise. Right now, I just want a glass of water.”

  
“Alright,” Iwaizumi conceded, standing up. “And put back on the peas. It'll help.”

  
Oikawa rolled his eyes, but picked it back up obediently and pressed it up against his cheek. “The bruising will go away in like a week or two, though.”

  
Iwaizumi’s eyes wavered from the tap for an instant, glancing at Oikawa out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah,” he said, filling up the glass swiftly. He returned to his chair opposite Oikawa, offering the glass, and Oikawa wrapped his fingers around it with a nod of thanks.

  
“What about your knee?” Iwaizumi asked lowly. “How's it feeling?”

  
Oikawa set the empty glass on the kitchen table with a stretch, giving Iwaizumi a painful smile. “It hurts.”

  
“Yeah, no shit. Can you walk?”

  
“I can, but I'd really rather not.”

  
Iwaizumi outstretched his hand, running his fingers lightly over Oikawa's knee supporter. “So what are we going to do?”

  
“Are you really asking me that?” Oikawa inquired incredulously. “About what? Which thing we screwed up are you referring to?”

  
Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow. “Your knee. And less of that sarcasm.”

  
Oikawa shrugged distantly, feeling the cold bitterness of the frozen peas sting through his skin. His other hand crept over to Iwaizumi’s as he answered. “I guess I'll actually start doing my exercises again. Oh, and Ushiwaka-chan gave me this heat pack which might be semi-useful, I guess.”

  
Oikawa pulled a face, and Iwaizumi looked thoughtful, lifting a hand to splay his fingers across the width of Oikawa's cheek. “He asked me to take care of you, you know. I don't think he's such a bad guy.”

  
“I do know,” Oikawa muttered under his breath. “It's just hard to accept that I have to work with the guy who crushed my teenage dreams, okay?”

  
“Dreams can be remade. It isn't the end of the world if you didn't achieve them. What was your dream, anyway?”

  
“To go to Nationals. Honestly, I knew we would've gotten crushed in the first round there, but I just… I wanted so badly to go. That's why my knee got fucked up in the first place.” Oikawa paused, his eyes adrift. “I wish I had you on my team back then. Then we would've made it to Nationals, for sure.”

  
“I don't think you can say that for definite,” Iwaizumi mused. “I was good in high school, but I wasn't anything exceptional.”

  
“If you're this good now, you had to be strong back then,” Oikawa insisted. “And I just know, okay? Don't question me. I have abilities beyond your mere mortal comprehension.”

  
“Sure you do."

  
“Asshole,” Oikawa accused harshly, lacing his fingers through Iwaizumi’s. “You're supposed to have faith in your boyfriend, Iwa-chan.”

  
Iwa-chan was starting to feel more and more worn out on Oikawa's lips, if he was being honest. Hajime was so much nicer. Blinking, Oikawa could see Iwaizumi attempting to hold back a smile and failing horribly, Oikawa's chest loosening with the easy comfort the sight gave him.

  
“I do have faith in you,” Iwaizumi protested. “Well, mostly.”

  
Oikawa rolled his eyes in disbelief, and Iwaizumi's expression mellowed further. He was still angry at him for lying, but right now it was stomped down into the recesses of his mind, overwhelmed by his affection for him. He tugged his hand back off of Oikawa's cheek, only to intertwine their fingers properly, Oikawa's brow creased up with a silent question, head tilting to the side.

  
“You look like you're thinking of something serious.

  
His voice was light, and Iwaizumi nodded briefly, words clogging up his throat and scrabbling up towards his lips.

  
“You…” Iwaizumi licked his lips. “You know how brave you are, right?”

  
Oikawa looked at him as if he was insane.

  
It occurred to Iwaizumi that he'd probably never heard that before.

  
It cracked his heart open, and made him push onwards.

  
“You're the bravest person I’ve ever met, and I don't think I'll ever meet someone who comes close to having your courage. I can't believe you stood up to your father like that, and you were doing all of that for me…”

  
Iwaizumi had to pause, rubbing a forearm hard across his eyes. “Fuck, sorry. I shouldn't have let him in at all.”

  
He felt Oikawa's hand squeeze his. “It's fine, Hajime. I told you to let him in, and it's just something that happens at times. It's okay.”

  
Iwaizumi's gaze grew sad. “It's not ‘just something that happens,’, Tooru. You shouldn't be treated like that.”

  
Oikawa shrugged. “I'm used to it. It doesn't really affect me anymore, so it's okay.”

  
“That doesn't make it okay. But it's not going to happen again. You're safe with me,” he finished, and this time there was no doubt in his voice at all.

  
His eyes shone rich and sincere, and Oikawa felt his breath leave him. For the second time this afternoon, he considered -

  
_Tell him_.

  
Oikawa opened his mouth, lips dry.  
“Hajime, you do know what a sap you're being right now, don't you?”

  
Iwaizumi blinked, then shook his head, a deep sigh welling up from his throat. “I'm trying to be supportive here, and that's what I get in return?”

  
Oikawa cocked his head to the side. “What did you expect? I am me, after all."

  
Iwaizumi exhaled lightly through his nose with amusement, his eyes warm as he regarded Oikawa. “You do make a good point.”

  
Oikawa stood up, hand slipping out of Hajime's. "We'd better start packing. Let's steal everything we can bring from the cupboards too, and leave the busted tv. A little gift to my asshole of a father."

  
Iwaizumi's lips ghosted into a smile. "Sounds good to me.”

  
Oikawa’s smile froze, and it started crumbling down in front of Iwaizumi’s eyes, his gaze crinkling up and forming tears. “I hit my own father.”

  
“You had to,” Iwaizumi breathed out softly, taking Oikawa's hands in his again. “Stop blaming yourself for everything all the time.”

  
Oikawa's crushed expression didn't change, but his eyes flashed with hope, and that was enough for Iwaizumi. He tugged on his hands.

  
“Come on. We've got packing to do.”

  
\---

  
“Wait.”

  
Iwaizumi arched an eyebrow, shooting a glance over at Oikawa, his hands frozen amongst the strewn clothing from his drawers.

  
“Yeah?”

  
“How’d you even get into the stadium? All the tickets were sold out, and there were security on all the entrances - Iwa-chan, you didn't beat up anyone, did you? Are you a wanted criminal now? Are the police going to take you away the instant you step outside?”

  
“No. Don't be ridiculous. I wouldn't be able to take on a trained guard anyway,” Iwaizumi replied, shrugging casually as he packed away a pair of sneakers.

  
He offered no more explanation to how he got in, which only made Oikawa's brow crease up even more.

  
“How did you get in, then? Did you knock out a guard and take his uniform? Please don't say there's a dead body stuffed into a sewer or something.”

  
Iwaizumi snorted. “Really? That's what you thought of? You've been watching too many crappy thrillers.”

  
“I do not watch cra - hey!” Oikawa said indignantly, leaning over to prod at Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “Stop changing the subject! I'm really starting to get worried here!”

  
Iwaizumi sighed. “Fine. I broke into the neighbouring building, got onto the roof and jumped across, then climbed down a maintenance shaft. Happy now?”

  
Oikawa was silent for a moment, staring at Iwaizumi's face, then his lips split into a grin, and he chortled aloud. “I didn't know you could make a joke! Come on, tell me how you actually got in.”

  
“That is how I got in.”

  
“But - what? But the - what?” Oikawa repeated helplessly, his eyes growing wide. “You jumped across rooftops just to haul me out of there?”

  
“Hey, I played Assassin’s Creed when I was younger,” Iwaizumi mentioned nonchalantly. “I knew what I was doing.”

  
Oikawa only continued gazing at him with awed eyes, and Iwaizumi shrugged again.

  
“I mean, I was actually fucking terrified, but I was angry enough to put the fear aside. Plus, it wasn't that far. There's no need to look so concerned.”

  
“Never do that again,” Oikawa blurted out. “Like, never never.”

  
“But I'm fine.”

  
Oikawa shifted, cross-legged, nearer to Iwaizumi, his eyes no longer broad but sharp, dark. He took Iwaizumi's chin in his angular fingers and turned his face slowly to the side, and back again, as if making sure he really was here. His gaze stuck on his temple, where his father has struck him, and Iwaizumi saw the thick flex of his throat as he swallowed.

  
“Why do you do so much for me?”

  
The question had slipped past Oikawa's lips without much thought, judging from the expression on his face. He pulled back immediately, shaking his head and breaking skin contact.

  
“Nevermind. Just don't do anything crazy like that again, you hear me? I'll sue your fine ass for emotional trauma.”

  
Iwaizumi hesitated for a heartbeat, wondering whether he should answer the first question or not.

  
“I only want you to be safe,” he settled on, and smiled at him, attempting to put him at ease.

  
Oikawa's frown only deepened, and he wrung his fingers together. “Well, I want you to be safe too, not doing parkour shit like that.”

  
“I wouldn't have had to if you-”

  
Iwaizumi bit back the rest of his sentence, not wanting to flare up the underlying argument now. The expression in Oikawa's eyes told him that he'd guessed the rest of his words anyway. Silently, Oikawa shuffled away and got back to sorting out his stuff, the air like cement in Iwaizumi's lungs.

  
They didn't talk until Iwaizumi's blood had simmered down and Oikawa was able to speak without shame festering on the inside of his lips.

  
\---  
"I have to go out," Iwaizumi mentioned a little while later as they rested on their bed, surrounded by the disturbance of moving. Boxes Iwaizumi had used only a week before littered every spare surface - his belongings were sparse, but Oikawa had lived here for years. He must be feeling the loss much more than Iwaizumi.

  
They hadn't resumed the unconcluded fight, instead choosing to loiter in blissful delay and distraction. Oikawa lifted his gaze up from his phone, eyes squinting at him curiously.

  
"Work?"

  
"Yeah. There's some other stuff too I need to check out."

  
"Other stuff?"

  
"Whatever I can do to raise the money needed so you can quit volleyball."

  
Oikawa regarded him carefully, suspicion climbing into his eyes. "It isn't illegal, is it? This 'stuff'?"

  
Iwaizumi blew out a breath. He had to keep interrogating him, hadn't he?

  
"No. No, of course not. I have some time between jobs, and I was going to check up on my mom, but I think I'll search around the area for a new job. Where does Matsukawa and Hanamaki live?"

  
"A new job? Iwa-chan, you don't need a new job." Oikawa spoke surely, slowly, as if it was an inarguable fact.

  
Iwaizumi dragged a hand back through his hair. He knew Oikawa would challenge him.

"I don't have time to discuss that now," he stated, knowing very well that he was only putting off the forthcoming argument more.

  
Oikawa only watched him as he got to his feet, rolling his stiff shoulders with a grimace. His expression softened, and his arm outstretched by itself towards Iwaizumi, fingers looping around his.

  
"I promise I won't be drunk when you come back," he said, quiet and determined.

  
His eyes stared up at Iwaizumi, and he was certain, for a suspended moment, that he saw a starry shimmer of a glass tower trying desperately to rebuild itself.

  
"And I promise I'll be back as soon as I possibly can," Iwaizumi replied, and he didn't intend it, but his voice came out equally as low, tenderness ribboning through his tone.

  
Oikawa nodded and offered him a tiny, honest smile, gratitude shining in his eyes. Thankful that Iwaizumi was willing to meet him halfway. Unable to help himself gravitating towards him, Iwaizumi crouched down, their faces level. Oikawa's fingers wound tightly around his as he thoughtlessly fixed some flyway strands framing his face, palm eventually slipping down to settle on Oikawa's cheek, careful of the forming bruises. Leaning forward, he paused for a moment, eyes memorising every dip and curve of his face, but Oikawa wasn't waiting.

  
He closed the gap between their lips easily, and Iwaizumi's breath felt lighter than ever in his lungs. It always did, when mingled with Oikawa's.

  
"You'd better get going," Oikawa spoke the obvious, and Iwaizumi nodded.

  
"Your father isn't going to come back, is he?"

  
Oikawa shrugged. "I don't know, but I can handle him if he does."

  
Under Iwaizumi's still-doubtful gaze, Oikawa straightened his back, his eyes growing steely and hard. "I can, Hajime. Don't look at me like that."

  
Iwaizumi eased out the crease in his forehead, but he couldn't ease the worry engraved in his chest as easily.

  
"Call me if anything happens," he said, and Oikawa rolled his eyes heavily. "I'm a big boy now, Mom. I can take care of myself."

  
He paused, a mischievous smile creeping over his lips.

  
"Unless you want to stay here with me, in which case you'd probably get fired." Oikawa grinned. "That'd be brilliant."

  
"Christ, how selfish can you get?"

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, to which Oikawa only grinned and stuck out his tongue.

"Is that a challenge I hear?"

  
"Be more selfish and die," Iwaizumi deadpanned.

  
"My, my, that's pretty brutal," Oikawa chided, clucking his tongue as he rolled onto his back. "You'd get more than a petty criminal record if you carried through with that threat, Iwa-chan."

  
"Oh, yeah?"

  
Iwaizumi watched as Oikawa bit his lower lip, rolling it outwards underneath his teeth as he very slowly, deliberately canted his hips upwards, a hand shifting underneath his shirt and dragging it upwards, revealing the flat, pale expanse of his stomach.

  
"Are you sure you don't want to stay here with me?" Oikawa asked, his voice breathy, raspy, eyes half-lidded and dark.

  
"Nah," Iwaizumi responded, turning his back.

  
Oikawa immediately dropped the act, sitting up rapidly, indignant. "At least acknowledge my seductive posing!"

  
Iwaizumi snorted, fishing out his jacket. "Not a chance."

  
"Aw, give me a break," Oikawa complained. "At least admit that you were turned on."

  
"I prefer it when you're not posing like you're trying to break your back," Iwaizumi explained, throwing on his jacket and turning around again.

  
Oikawa exhaled huffily through his nose, folding his legs into a cross-legged position. "Then what do you like?"

  
Iwaizumi rubbed a hand over his mouth, considering the question. "I like it when you're acting cool, but your hands are… I don't know, they're fidgeting around like they're unable to wait and I can tell from your eyes that all you want to do is kiss me. But you don't want to appear too eager, so you kind of...dither there for a second. That’s when I like to kiss you.”

  
Under Oikawa's wide gaze - he hadn't expected a serious answer to his query - Iwaizumi suddenly shook his head, brow creasing up.

  
“No, wait. I prefer it when you're confident, and not faking it. When you're actually comfortable with revealing how eager you are, your hands are always roaming all over me. I like that, and when you're draped on top of me, just making out with every part of our skin touching…” Iwaizumi trailed off, realising how red his cheeks were, and licked his lips. “Anyway, yeah.”

  
“You can continue,” Oikawa encouraged, his lips curling up in a teasing smile.

  
“No,” Iwaizumi refused. “I need to get to work.”

  
Oikawa rolled his eyes. “Come on, I gotta know what you like, so I can mock you.”

  
“You're a piece of shit.”

  
“Piece of shit and proud, my dear boyfriend.”

  
“Look, I just like... you, alright? That's all there is to it.”

  
“Aww, so romantic ~” Oikawa sang out, eyes crinkled and sparkling. He leaned forwards with a devilish smile, reaching out to grab onto Iwaizumi’s jean waistline and tug him over to the edge of the bed.

“Stay here with me, and I can find out what you like for myself,” he teased, curling his arms around Iwaizumi’s torso, taunting eyelashes fluttering up to meet his steadfast gaze.

  
Iwaizumi held his gaze, searching Oikawa's lighthearted voice and grin. His expression softened.

  
“I'm going to call Sugawara to keep you company, alright? I'll be back before you know it,” he told him gently, his arms wrapping around Oikawa's upper shoulders, ducking his face to press a kiss to the top of his head.

  
Oikawa sighed quietly, resting his forehead against Iwaizumi’s warm chest. “I don't want Suga-kun right now. I want you.”

  
Iwaizumi’s fingers tousled Oikawa's silk hair between them gently, wordless offering an apology. “I’d stay if I could, believe me.”

  
Oikawa pushed his face further into Iwaizumi’s shirt, muffling his voice intentionally, distorting it so the quivering in it was less noticeable. He knew Iwaizumi would sense it regardless.

“Fine. I'm going to go and… do some stuff, I guess.”

  
“Don't strain your knee,” Iwaizumi reminded him, and Oikawa sighed deeply.

  
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You can leave if you're going to be a nag.”

  
Pulling away, Oikawa flopped back onto the bed, untangling his aching legs with a little wince. Then Iwaizumi's face was hovering above his, a knee in the gap between his legs, and warm fingers ghosting down his jawline. He didn't say anything - only compassionately sealing his lips onto Oikawa's, shallow and close-mouthed, floaty and absent. It was wonderful.

  
Oikawa felt his mind growing distant, fluff bundling into the corners of his skull and flourishing like flowers under a gardener’s dirt-grooved fingers. Perhaps Iwaizumi's intention was for the kiss to signify a temporary goodbye, but neither of them were willing to be the one to end it. Arms sliding around a familiar neck that smelt so, so good, Oikawa shifted Iwaizumi's body nearer to his, fingers grasping at dark brown strands. Neither of them consciously recall parting their lips, but somehow their mouths became more connected than ever, Iwaizumi’s hands cradling Oikawa's face, his legs squeezing around Oikawa's defined hips.

  
“I-” Oikawa gasped out once they were forced to break for air, his head spinning from more than lack of oxygen. “I’m so close to ripping your pants off. Like, this close.”

  
He held up his thumb and forefinger, and very deliberately placed them touching each other, gaze flitting downwards pointedly.

  
Iwaizumi gave him a slow smile, and it made Oikawa's stomach flip over. “I'm very close to saying fuck it, too, but I really need to go.”

  
He started lifting his body off of Oikawa’s, who released a lengthy groan of protest.

“It's cold,” Oikawa complained to him, sitting up on the bed again to watch Iwaizumi fix his disgruntled hair. Or, try to. Iwaizumi's hair wasn't exactly controllable. 

  
“Here,” Iwaizumi said, scooping up an oversized jumper and tossing it at his face. “That'll help.”

  
“You know what would also help?” Oikawa questioned innocently, catching the jumper deftly. “Your naked body on top of mine. I'd be very warm then.”

  
Iwaizumi snorted. “Maybe later.”

  
Oikawa brightened, suddenly looking forwards to Iwaizumi’s return more than ever. “You mean that? Or are you just getting my hopes up so I won't be all moody? You're cruel at times, I wouldn't put that past you.”

  
Resting a hand on the doorframe, Iwaizumi paused to roll his eyes. “We’ll see, alright?”

  
Oikawa’s lips pursed up into a discontented pout. “Fine.”

  
“Plus,” Iwaizumi added. “I don't want to do anything that could hurt your knee further.”

  
“Spoilsport,” Oikawa muttered, falling sideways onto the bed and pressing his face into the pillow. “Go then, and think about how awful a person you are while I cry,” came the muffled insult.

  
Iwaizumi cracked a smile. “I'm just being cautious.”

  
“You can be cautious by wearing a condom while you fuck me,” was Oikawa's blunt response.

  
“Goodbye,” was Iwaizumi’s only, flat reply, and he walked straight out the doorway.

  
Oikawa bounded to his feet, sprinting down the hall and lunging at Iwaizumi’s unsuspecting back. Iwaizumi staggered forwards a step under Oikawa's weighty embrace before catching himself, instinctively muttering a curse.

  
“For fuck’s-”

  
Oikawa, his arms slung around Iwaizumi’s neck and his chest pressed closely to his shoulder blades, spoke up, quick and soft, and somehow, urgently.

  
“Come back soon, okay?”

  
Iwaizumi tried to rotate his head to meet Oikawa's eyes, but Oikawa kept his face near to the back of his neck. He settled for grasping Oikawa's dangling hand in his, promising, “I'll be back as soon as I can.”

  
He felt Oikawa kiss the back of his neck before letting him go, slipping right back into character by dragging a palm across Iwaizumi’s arse.

  
Iwaizumi rolled his eyes as Oikawa winked at him, but he chose not to comment further. “Are you going to call Sugawara?”

  
“Nah.” Oikawa shrugged. “I think I'll just stay in bed and watch some films without your petty logical judgements. Maybe then I can actually enjoy them.”

  
Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, slotting the key in the lock and turning. “Enjoy your shit films then.”

  
“Just because you can't appreciate art doesn't mean they're shit,” Oikawa shot back, poking him in the shoulder curtly.

  
“Right, whatever. I don't have time to argue with you,” Iwaizumi stated shortly, pushing open the door.

  
He pulled Oikawa into a hasty hug , praying that his vanilla scent wouldn't be polluted with liquor when he returned. When he released him, Oikawa gave him a smile, and Iwaizumi’s worried heart relaxed.

  
It was the bravest smile he'd ever seen.

  
\---

  
Iwaizumi cracked open the door slowly, a hard lump in his throat. His heart was beating at a terrific pace in his chest - he could feel it in his fingertips, the blood pulsing from the fear that Oikawa hadn't been able to keep his promise.

Shutting the door behind him, Iwaizumi strained his ears for any noise, and he found it. Little snatches of footsteps on the kitchen floor, little patches of breathing - no, not breathing. Iwaizumi advanced down the corridor, heart held precariously between his teeth. The sounds became clearer, and no, it wasn't just loud breathing, or talking.

  
Singing.

  
Oikawa was singing, and his voice carried through the air freely, expanding out and filling every corner of the room. Iwaizumi took another step, Oikawa's off-key notes pouring in through his ears and curling up into his mind, and suddenly he was tearing up.

  
Oikawa was a horrible singer.

  
_And I could easily lose my mind_

  
He reached the doorway and rested a hand on the frame, drinking in the picture in front of him. Oikawa was spiralling, spiralling elegantly on his toes, arms slinking through the air delicately, eyes tightly shut as he sang to his earphones, bold and confident.

  
_The way you kiss me will work each time  
Pulling me back into the flames  
And I'm burning up again, I'm burning up_

  
Evening light, such a contrast to the blinding noon bulbs, ghosted into the room and whispered through Oikawa's form, sunlight settling onto his skin in cloudy wisps like it belonged there, clinging to his clothes. Iwaizumi had no breath anymore, his eyes, stinging with thankful tears, glued to every fluid movement of his hips, his ears tuned into every tap of his feet on the tiles, heart bobbing up and down in time to Oikawa's dance.

  
_Lips, generous and warm  
You build me up like stairs_

  
There was no way he could dance like that if he was drunk.

  
Iwaizumi's eyes moistened further, and he raised a hand to clear them, then dropped it back down to his side. He didn't want to lose a second of drinking in Oikawa.

  
_Eyes innocent and wild  
Remind me what it's like, oh_

  
He looked so peaceful then, so at ease, flinging his arms everywhere with a wide grin, his own aura illuminating the sunlight surrounding him. He shone, and Iwaizumi felt himself slipping away.  
Oikawa's dance slowed, and he swayed over and back, the change of pace not diminishing his radiance in the slightest, not caging his softening voice in the least. The stillness, the careful purposefulness of his body's motion, didn't change.

  
"Tooru," Iwaizumi breathed out, but Oikawa couldn't hear his awed voice, still dissolving into the song.

  
_I never should've told you  
I never should've let you see inside  
Don't want it troubling your mind  
Won't you let it be_

  
He glowed, as beautiful as ever with a stormcloud of newly developed bruises denting his cheek. It made no difference - what truly made Oikawa gorgeous was not his looks, not at all.

  
"Oikawa," Iwaizumi tried again, having to consciously strengthen his voice, breathless with wonder.

  
This time, Oikawa heard him. He spun around, popping out his earbuds and beaming at him. "You're back!"

  
He rushed over and gathered Iwaizumi up into his arms, hugging him warmly.

  
"And you're sober," Iwaizumi observed with a smile, so much more than proud.

  
"I am!" Oikawa returned the smile readily, planting a quick kiss on Iwaizumi's cheek. "My father didn't pay another visit either, so I think we're good for now, too. How was work?"

  
"A bit more interesting than usual, seeing as I had this to explain," Iwaizumi told him, gesturing to the developed mark on his temple.

  
Oikawa stiffened, and Iwaizumi shook his head. "Don't worry. I wouldn't go telling acquaintances exactly what happened. When I said I'd tell the truth, I meant to people we trust."

  
"Then what did you say?" Oikawa asked, relaxing and nuzzling against Iwaizumi's neck.

  
"Just that I'd gotten into a fight. In my old neighbourhood, it wasn't that unusual anyway. They're used to it."

  
"And it isn't exactly a lie, either," Oikawa murmured, his eyes dropping from Iwaizumi's face.

  
Sensing his change in mood, Iwaizumi cleared his throat.

  
"You... can continue what you were doing," Iwaizumi mentioned, as casually as he possibly could. "Before I came home, I mean. You looked like you were enjoying yourself."

  
Oikawa brightened up, grinned, and clasped his hands, dragging Iwaizumi out into the middle of the floor. With one hand, he yanked out his earphones and chucked them onto the table.

"There's room for one more on the dancefloor, Iwa-chan, and I think it should be you. Dance with me!"

  
Iwaizumi didn't have the lack of heart to refuse. Oikawa's sincere smile was worth sacrificing his dignity for, and so much more.

  
"Isn't your knee hurting you?" He asked as Oikawa hurled himself into a twirl, hair reaching out from the sides of his head.

  
"You bet it is," Oikawa replied, a twinkle in his gold-dusted eyes. "But it's worth it. It's better than being numb, that's for sure!"

  
He took out his phone and resumed the song he was singing along to, this time so Iwaizumi could hear it too. And because he couldn't bear to strip Oikawa of this simple joy, he danced with him, instead of forcing him to rest his knee. Such a genuine good mood was rare in Oikawa's world, and he couldn't stand to spoil it for him.

His feet began to slide and shift, uncertain at first, until Oikawa's movements adapted to his, hands always guiding him throughout.  
Iwaizumi picked up the words quickly enough, too, and his low, steady voice joined Oikawa's, soaking the lyrics into the ceiling, the walls, the cabinet with the worn handle and sagging bottom.

  
_And I, I never understood what was at stake  
I never thought your love was worth its weight_

  
Oikawa's hand, interwoven with his, coaxed him close, and for a second, a mere split instant in the elaborate dance Oikawa was composing, their gazes locked, faces only a breath away. For a moment, their hearts collided, and their thoughts were one.

  
_But I've finally worked it out, I've worked it out_

  
And then, there was no doubt in Iwaizumi's mind anymore, no hesitation halting his slow realisation.

  
I'm in love with him, Iwaizumi thought, watching how little bits of Oikawa's hair flared out when he spun around. I'm not just dating him, or fucking him. I'm actually in love with this asshole.

  
Oikawa's hand caught his again, pulled, and Iwaizumi went willingly with him, back into the flames.

  
\--

  
Oikawa had woken up, and his trembling hands lay over his shoulders, arms crossed over his chest, gripping them tightly. Iwaizumi wasn't awake, and Oikawa didn't intend for him to wake up. His gaze, adjusting to the deep darkness, flickered over to him, filtering in his soft, unguarded expression, mouth slightly open with a tiny damp spot forming on the pillow. Oikawa smiled, the tension rolling off his shoulders somewhat, leaning over to allow his fingers to airily skim over his tanned skin. They paused at his temple, where dark blotches indicated bruising, bad bruising. The smile dropped from Oikawa's lips. His father had done that.

  
Iwaizumi had tried to help him, and this is what he got. This is what he got every time he tried to help Oikawa - stabbed, punched, yelled at. Guilt pierced Oikawa at the hazy memory of having the mad urge to smash a glass into his skull, to force him to let go.

  
Why, Oikawa wondered, was he even still with him at all?

  
Oikawa loved him - that was a fact he couldn't deny. Yet Iwaizumi didn't know that, and it wasn't as if Oikawa's love on its own was enough to make him go through all this trouble for him.

  
Oikawa was suddenly wrapped in the memory of today - or perhaps yesterday - of him cowering on the hard court, verging on a breakdown. Of Iwaizumi letting go of his anger, stooping down to talk to him, to lace their fingers together. Of his unquestioning, simple attitude as he held Oikawa and carried through with his request.

  
Iwaizumi loved him too. He had to.

  
A shock vibrated through Oikawa's body, a low, shivering hum of his very core. His breaths quickened, and he gazed down at Iwaizumi, dear, reckless, impulsive, dedicated Iwaizumi.

  
He loves me. This man loves me, Oikawa thought, and it felt right, fitting into his mind naturally alongside the obvious facts that the sky was blue and that Oikawa Tooru loved Iwaizumi Hajime.

  
It was only a hope, but it was enough of solid one for Oikawa to clutch onto with every fibre of his being.

  
He settled down beside him, wiping off the last lurking shreds of his nightmare and curling up to his body. Hajime was so warm against his skin, as if he had his own tiny sun inside his chest, a swirling ball of everything that made him who he was. Next to him, Oikawa sighed out contentedly, the cold sheen of sweat melting away, Hajime's presence seeping through him and dissolving the ice in his fingertips.

  
He didn't have any problems falling back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit early because you guys' comments honestly give me so much more motivation, bless you  
> (I did delete this chapter first time I posted it, format was shit because for some reason in google docs you can't put space after paragraphs so ANYWAYS I MANUALLY PUT SPACES AFTER EACH ONE YOU'RE WELCOME)  
> song : https://youtu.be/DQMbHNofCzw  
> ALSO I'M SORRY BUT IT WOULD BE SUPER USEFUL IF YOU COULD VOTE ON THE CHAPTER LENGTHS  
> http://www.strawpoll.me/12395306  
> help me I'm really indecisive


	18. they're both so goddamn stubborn jfc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> iwaizumi can't understand why oikawa won't stop drinking and quit the team. oikawa can't understand why iwaizumi doesn't stop working himself to the bone and start taking care of himself. matsukawa and hanamaki are forced to step in and force them to talk it out. also the l word is a big thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AY YO I'M NOT DEAD  
> I just randomly stopped writing for a few weeks I need a break okay  
> also hamilton sucked me in rip  
> small secret I couldn't remember how the fuck 17 ended and i'm lazy so i'm just praying the start makes sense  
> if you can remember how 17 ended good for you how do you do the impossible it's been like 10 years

18

\--

Oikawa's fingers, digging into Iwaizumi's back, woke him up. Iwaizumi's hands were sliding up through the sheets before he even opened his eyes, palms cradling the angles of Oikawa's face. 

“Tooru,” he breathed out, and it was deeper than usual, whispered through a sleep-roughened throat. 

“It's fine. I'm fine,” Oikawa mumbled, and Iwaizumi felt his forehead touch his. 

His slow eyes finally focused on Oikawa's face, mere centimetres away. He looked strangely stricken, with his lips pulled tight and his eyes pinched at the sides. His cheek was a clumsy blossom of blue, a few dark purple spots here and there, and Iwaizumi hoped that the peas actually helped. Maybe they would’ve been dark purple without it. 

“I-” Oikawa's voice hitched, up high in his throat. “I thought about it, and you, and I'm sorry for not trusting you - I just knew it'd create bad feeling between us and I couldn't stand that, but now it's even worse and I fucked up-” 

“Tooru, slow down.” Iwaizumi's voice was gentle, his touches careful. “How long have you been awake for?” 

There was a pause, and Oikawa squeezed his bright eyes shut. “An hour or so. But-!” Here his eyes opened, narrowed and determined. “That doesn't mean anything! I know you think that I've been overthinking but I haven't, I've only been thinking, Hajime.” 

Iwaizumi's gaze regarded him, deciding whether the words he believed were sincere were actually true. 

“It's alright,” he said softly. “I'm not - well, I -” Iwaizumi blew out a breath of frustration, rubbing his fingers over his eyes, feeling Oikawa’s wide-awake eyes rake over his face. 

Iwaizumi sat up, stretching up his arms and hearing one of his shoulders crack, satisfying to his ears. “Sorry, but I need a coffee before discussing this.” 

He felt Oikawa's eyes trail up his back, and turned to look at him just in time to see him shake his head. “No. I want to say it now,” Oikawa told him stubbornly, a hand raising to tug on his shoulder, guiding him back down. 

And because these moments where Oikawa freely spoke his mind were rare, because his eyes were full of fire, Iwaizumi lay back down next to him and tried his best to sweep all the cloudy remains of sleep from his mind. They settled on their sides facing each other, hands tucked up in front of them, almost touching. Oikawa outstretched his pinky finger and curled it around Iwaizumi’s. 

“Hajime, I want to help you,” came his soft voice. 

Iwaizumi's head was automatically moving even before Oikawa's fingers clasped around his chin. 

“Don't even try to say you don't need the money. I'll slap you again.” 

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi heaved a sigh, but relented, running his fingers back through his hair. “Alright, fine. Continue.” 

Oikawa hesitated, the well-thought-out words melting through the gaps in his mind far too quickly now that he had the opportunity to speak his mind. He swallowed, feeling Iwaizumi's constant gaze patiently wait for him to talk. His fingers fidgeted. He still wasn't used to people listening to him - actually listening to something he actually wanted to say. 

“I just wanted to help,” was his lame statement. 

Iwaizumi's gaze dropped, to his entangled fingers. “Then trust me. I wouldn't have stopped you, but I would've done everything in my power to convince you otherwise. We could've worked something else out if you came to me first, before deciding what's good for me on your own.” 

“I'm sorry.”

The words felt limp on his lips, and Oikawa licked them, anxious.

He could see the range of thoughts cross Iwaizumi's sleepy face - uncertainty, consideration, then decision. His hand outstretched and touched Oikawa's wrist lightly. 

“I don't think you owe me an apology,” he said lowly. “Not as long as you talk to me in future. And I'm sorry for interrupting your match like that.” 

Oikawa offered him a crooked smile. “It was going shittily anyway. And I'm apologising anyways, because I have to upkeep my perfect image of humility.” 

Iwaizumi's answering smile seemed to draw all the tension out of Oikawa's body.

“Then apology accepted,” Iwaizumi told him, warmth in his eyes. 

He propped himself up on one elbow, still smiling as he slipped a hand around the back of Oikawa's neck, careful not to tug on his hair. His fingertips skimmed across the nape of Oikawa's neck for a few moments, before Iwaizumi leaned forwards, stooping over to reach Oikawa's lips. 

He brushed their mouths together, and began to pull back away. Oikawa wasn't having any of it. He took a quick breath, then wrapped his arm around Iwaizumi's shoulders, chasing his lips. 

“I'm so glad,” Oikawa whispered before covering Iwaizumi's mouth with his. 

Iwaizumi indulged himself in a few seconds of soft kissing before breaking it, frowning. 

“For what?” 

“For you forgiving me.” 

“What, you thought I wouldn't?” 

Oikawa, after an instant of thought, shook his head. “I knew you would, but you were angry at me, and that was awful. I didn't think it'd feel so shitty, if I'm being honest.” 

“Well, it felt shitty being angry at you too,” Iwaizumi told him straight out. “I just needed to be pissed off for a bit. Promise me you'll come to me in future, though.” 

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “The mighty Oikawa Tooru doesn't like taking advice from mortals.” 

“Oh, really?” Iwaizumi's grin was savage, and his hand slid down Oikawa’s shoulder, aiming for his sides. “The great and mighty Oikawa Tooru wouldn't happen to have any specific weaknesses, then?” 

Oikawa slithered away the best he could, nearing the edge of the bed dangerously quick as he batted away Iwaizumi's hands. “I don't know what you're talking about - I have no weakness, none at al - all - Hajime, stop it, I swear to god if you touch me I'll sue you -” 

Iwaizumi pounced, catching Oikawa's upper arms and fixing him to the mattress. Oikawa's legs rose, curling back against his chest before shoving back against Iwaizumi’s stomach, forcing him to break his grip. 

“You'll never get me alive,” Oikawa hissed out, purposely making eye contact before toppling over the side of the bed. 

Iwaizumi's grab for him was in vain, Oikawa’s grunt of discomfort making him grimace in sympathy. He had no idea why Oikawa chose the side next to the wall to fall down - there was only a small gap between the brick and the bed. He peered over the edge, where Oikawa was lying skewedly, his limbs entangled up in the picture of awkwardness. 

“You didn't think that through, did you?” came Iwaizumi's amused comment. 

“I didn't think it'd actually hurt!” Oikawa groaned out, shifting in an attempt to detangle himself. “Come on, help me!” 

Iwaizumi blinked down at him lazily. “It's much more satisfying to watch you struggle by yourself.” 

“Oh, shut up!” 

One of Oikawa's hands reached up and grabbed Iwaizumi's firm upper arm, yanking him forwards a few inches more over the edge of the bed. Iwaizumi's mouth curled up into a smile.

“If you're trying to make me join you, you're going to have to do better than that.” 

In response, Oikawa released a long, ear-grating whine, his eyes broadening with every silent, pleading second passing. Iwaizumi huffed, propping his elbows at the very edge of the mattress as he gazed down at him. 

“You're not cute enough to do that.” 

“I am more than cute enough to do puppy eyes!” Oikawa retorted back, grimacing as he tried to wriggle into a manageable position. “You're just heartless.” 

Iwaizumi's eyes softened, his gaze slipping over to Oikawa's knee. “Here,” he said shortly, outstretching a hand - not that he had to reach very far. 

Oikawa's lips parted in a wide grin, and it hit Iwaizumi that that wasn't his usual grateful grin a second before he lunged up, wrapping his arms around Iwaizumi's shoulders and using the weight of his body to drag him down. 

He tumbled forwards, the short distance making it impossible to describe as falling - it was more like a anti-climactic car crash, Iwaizumi’s limbs forced to mould around Oikawa, the wall, and the bed. 

“This,” Iwaizumi started, his nose squished up against Oikawa's collarbone, “is the most uncomfortable position I've ever been in in my life. Why would you do this deliberately?” 

“If I suffer, you suffer with me,” came Oikawa's sure declaration, and Iwaizumi groaned, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Oikawa's neck. 

“You're so petty.”

“God, you're so judgemental,” Oikawa shot back. “I prefer to call it ‘a sense of solidarity.’ You have to know about that ‘ride together die together,’ stuff!”

“That doesn't apply to falling  _ on purpose _ into a tiny space.” 

Oikawa sniffed. “You forced me to do it.” 

“I did not.”

“Yes you did! You were trying to tickle me!”

“I didn't push you off the bed.”

“Stop making excuses, Hajime. It's your fault we're in this situation.” 

“It's really not,” Iwaizumi groaned out, attempting to manoeuvre in the confined space, get his hands on the ground so he could push himself up. 

Oikawa kept getting in the way, and after a few seconds of hapless effort, Iwaizumi reached out his hand sideways and shoved the bed away from the wall. It gave easier than he expected, sitting thankfully into the newly created space. 

“You're such a spoilsport,” Oikawa complained, and Iwaizumi gave him a purposeful stare. 

“If you want to cuddle, just tell me.” 

“Who'd want to cuddle with a grumpy man like you?” Oikawa asked, even as he reached out his arms. 

Iwaizumi accepted his invitation, sliding a bit closer on his knees to wrap his arms around Oikawa's torso, murmuring into his t-shirt, “Would you ever stop insulting me? I'm not grumpy.” 

“You're totally grumpy,” Oikawa insisted, his fingertips tracing down Iwaizumi’s spine, voice mellow. “But you're my grump. My little grumpy adorable boyfriend.”

“Stop,” Iwaizumi groaned out. “None of that.” 

“The most handsome-”

“Stop,” Iwaizumi muttered, his ears tinting a gentle pink. 

Oikawa took no notice of him, smiling as he nuzzled into Iwaizumi’s hair. “- most supportive, patient boyfriend on the planet.” 

“You're as sappy as shit,” Iwaizumi told him, his head still bowed, Oikawa's chin resting at the top of his head. 

“I know,” Oikawa replied happily. “It's one of my best traits. Along with the ability to get one of the best people I've ever known in my entire life to date me. I'm quite content with myself.”

Iwaizumi could feel his ears burn, and he squeezed Oikawa a little closer, wishing he could put his feelings into words. 

“You're pretty okay too, you know,” he said eventually, swallowing thickly. 

He felt Oikawa chuckle against him, the vibrations welcoming and homely. “It's okay, Hajime. I forgive your complete lack of ability to speak, because I know you love me.” 

Iwaizumi stilled, his breath turning dangerously shallow. Oikawa seemed to pick up on his change in mood, clearing his throat with a quick cough. 

“Anyways, it's like how you love Kuroo!” he exclaimed, drawing back a little. “He annoys the hell out of you and yet you're fond of him, right? It's weird how that works, isn't it?”

He spoke lightly, daintily, as if his words were threading through air, as if what he just said couldn't possibly mean anything. 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi breathed out, wiping his damp palms on his t-shirt. “It really is.” 

He straightened up, sitting back on his heels and releasing Oikawa. Rubbing the back of his neck, he glanced at the bed, then back at Oikawa, whose fingers were in his lap, fidgeting quietly.

"Shut up, Oikawa."

Oikawa blinked. "I didn't say an-"

Before he could finish the sentence, Iwaizumi's lips were pushed flush against his, soft and leaving a tingle to race down Oikawa's spine. Oikawa decided to abandon his sentence and return the quiet pressure, leaning in further to slip his palm around the back of his neck. Once they parted, Oikawa released a content sigh before opening his eyes, seeing Iwaizumi's pale green eyes gaze warmly at him. Iwaizumi smiled, resting their foreheads together gently.

"I know. I just needed an excuse to kiss you," Iwaizumi murmured, hands tangling in Oikawa's. 

Oikawa laughed, his gaze beautifully alight. "You don't need an excuse. I'll always be up for kissing you."

Iwaizumi’s smile was contained more in his eyes than his lips, extending all the way down to his chest . For a single throb of his heart, he wanted to tell Oikawa he was right, right beyond all doubt. He did love him.

He shook the idle, longing notion away. It was likely too soon. 

“Alright, come on. I want to do something before we leave.” 

Oikawa raised his eyebrows. “You're not planning on wrecking the place, are you?” 

“I'm not that bad, although fuck knows your father deserves it,” Iwaizumi grumbled, finger pads skimming gently over Oikawa's splotchy cheek. “No, I need to draft out a budget, so tell me your salary.”

Oikawa exhaled a little through his nose, mouth curling up in amused surprise. “I wasn't expecting you to say that.” 

Iwaizumi's eyebrow arched. “You were expecting me to suggest we wreck the place? We're not hooligans.” 

Oikawa sniffed. “I disagree. I'm not a hooligan. You, on the other hand, broke into a stadium.” 

“Only to get my idiot of a boyfriend,” Iwaizumi murmured, fingertips gentle against Oikawa's palm. 

“That makes you even more of an idiot,” Oikawa huffed out, watching how tenderly Iwaizumi's work-roughened, large fingers treated his smooth, defined ones. 

They sat in silence for a minute or two, drifting within their own heads. Oikawa drank in the sensation of Iwaizumi's careful caresses, memorising the location of every calloused patch of skin, every little cut Iwaizumi probably didn't even notice he had. 

“We should get up,” Iwaizumi mentioned eventually, with a quick glance at the clock. 

“I always hated the word ‘should,’” Oikawa commented offhandedly, discovering yet another scratch at the base of Iwaizumi's palm. “It's a mean word.” 

He realised dimly, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he was speaking his thoughts aloud, without checking them or filter. How did that happen? 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi agreed with him. “It pretty much means that there's something you have to do rather than what you want to do. That by itself isn't nice.” 

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “I know what ‘should,’ means. But it's more than that… it's like the expectation for you to do something. Whether you want to or not.” 

Iwaizumi nodded his agreement, quiet for a moment. “It's a horrible word.” 

Oikawa's fingers massaged his for another minute in silence, dropping his head to rest on Iwaizumi's shoulder comfortably. 

“Do you want to get breakfast?” Iwaizumi asked eventually. 

Oikawa smiled. “I'd love to.” 

\-------

Iwaizumi shook his head, marvelling down at the rough budget he'd sketched. Oikawa's income was fantastic, really. He'd known that pro athletes got paid a lot, but this...it was no surprise that many were very wealthy. He could understand why his father wanted him to continue on - if only he was mentally and physically able. 

Iwaizumi's jaw clenched, and he scanned through the figure again. It didn't matter how much Oikawa was making, he couldn't let this to go on. He'd investigated jobs around the area the PDA couple lived in yesterday, and he believed that they might be able to gather the amount needed in a much less damaging way. Alright, so if he took on an extra job, and asked for that promotion in the factory - and got it, of course - it looked like Oikawa could get a regular job, maybe modelling, maybe something else that took his fancy. 

Iwaizumi glanced up, at Oikawa's furrowed brow as he peered at his phone screen, obviously bemused. His teeth grasped at his lower lip, swirling the wooden spoon around in the pan and clearly just hoping for the best. A small smile hovered on Iwaizumi's lips, and he got to his feet, putting the money at the back of his mind.

“Need some help?”

“No,” Oikawa denied, sticking out his tongue. “I know exactly what I'm doing. Wait until I'm done, it's going to be the most exquisite food you've ever eaten! It's going to blow your taste buds-”

“I smell burning,” Iwaizumi interrupted, nodding towards the stove. 

Oikawa balked visibly, the spoon clattering out of his hands as he fell to a crouch, yanking open the grill door. 

“Oh, shit!” 

Hiding his grin, Iwaizumi approached him, thankful for the sweet, temporary distraction. 

\---

He brought it up at breakfast.

"Look, I know it's not ideal, but a club down the road from Matsukawa's place has offered me a job, and it's close-" 

Oikawa's head rose, eyes flashing with something very close to suspicion, and a lump got stuck in Iwaizumi's throat. He didn't want Oikawa to look like that at him. 

"-so it's really handy," he finished weakly. 

"What club?" Oikawa questioned, tone low. 

Iwaizumi pressed his lips together. "The one next to The Caw." 

"The Shaking Feather?"

"Yeah." 

"That's a strip club." 

"Yeah." 

Oikawa stayed silent, stabbing his chopstick through an innocent prawn. Trying to ignore his thinly stretched mouth and huddled shoulders, Iwaizumi continued on. "If I got a job there, you could quit the team. We could manage. And I checked out the place yesterday - it's not sleazy, the other guys there like it-"

"I don't." 

Feeling his heart drop, Iwaizumi tried again. "I get where you're coming from, but it's got a no touching policy. The clients would only be looking." 

"Unless someone paid enough," Oikawa said flatly, staring down as if he wanted to burn a hole in the ceramic plate. "And somebody would pay enough, you know that. Those private shows - they're not monitored. What if someone -" Oikawa broke off, and Iwaizumi reached over the table, sliding his fingers through Oikawa's, tense and curled up. "I'm well capable of looking after myself, Oikawa. You wouldn't have to worry, about me or about the team. If you got a moderately well paying job, we'd have enough."

"But you wouldn't be here." Oikawa's voice was shallow, as if he was forcing himself not to give away any depth, any hint, of his emotions.

"I'd be here on Sundays," Iwaizumi said finally. "And maybe some afternoons. The club would take up my evenings and nights."

Oikawa's teeth sliced onto his lower lip, and his hand tightened around Iwaizumi's. "I don't like it. Any of it."

"Tooru..." 

Oikawa lifted his gaze from the table to look at him, and words of persuasion crashed into the rock crammed into his throat. Oikawa didn't have to tell him just how much he hated the idea. Iwaizumi swallowed, then thought of Oikawa's dim eyes as alcohol poured down his throat. 

"I can't allow you to continue on like this," he said quietly. "I don't care about the money. I want you to be okay." 

"I'm not going to be okay if you're never here!" Oikawa spat out, and to his horror, Iwaizumi saw tears were threatening in the deep creases of his eyes. 

Oikawa, apparently embarrassed by his outburst, inhaled through trembling lips, wiping his forearm across his eyes. 

"If you want me to pretend that I don't mind and everything's fine, I will," he said quietly. "I can do that." 

"No," Iwaizumi swooped in rapidly. "I don't want that at all." 

"Then what do you want? Because I'll never be fine with that. I don't want some fucking stranger pawing you or looking at you like you're some object-" Oikawa inhaled shakily. "But I can deal with it, if you'll be around at least five nights a week, or something." 

Iwaizumi chewed his lower lip anxiously, stalling for time. Oikawa's gaze bore into him. "You're asking too much," Iwaizumi said finally. "At best, I could only do three." 

He was stretching the truth, even at that.

Oikawa leaned backwards slowly, fingers slipping out of Iwaizumi's grasp, his features hardening as he crossed his arms over his chest. Iwaizumi's hand felt cold without Oikawa's entangled in his, so he shifted uncomfortably, roping his fingers together and ripping them apart again. He didn't want to see Oikawa's eyes, but he eventually did, and immediately wished he hadn't. 

"Find another job," Oikawa said coldly. "Tell them to shove it." 

Iwaizumi wet his lips. "The next nearest job available is an hour away. Trust me, I've looked. You think I like this?" 

Defensiveness rose in him. Oikawa was being unfair, he couldn't change his circumstances. His gaze narrowed. Oikawa's never faltered for an instant.

"Then no. I'm not quitting the team." 

"You know it's not good for your mental or physical condition," Iwaizumi insisted. "I don't know how you passed the physical and I don't want to know, but for the love of god, quit.”

Oikawa let out a dry, acrid laugh. "If I quit, I might as well be living alone.” 

Sighing, Iwaizumi dropped his face onto his hands. “It's not just about the money, Tooru. Your dr-”

“That's not a problem,” Oikawa cut across him, and Iwaizumi shook his head surely. “I can stop when I want.” 

“It is, whether you admit it or not.” 

Oikawa's lips tightened, his eyes half-lidded and cold. 

“And how are you going to stop that, now? My dear Iwa-chan, you're far too busy to keep tabs on me during the day. I can drink whenever I want.” 

"I'll ask Matsukawa, Hanamaki or Suga."

"And I'll drive them away. I'm good at that," Oikawa chuckled, and the bitter noise made Iwaizumi's chest inflate painfully. "I'd rather not break up with my remaining friends, thank you very much."

"Then cooperate with me!" Iwaizumi burst out, and the abrupt sharpness in his voice surprised even himself. "I'm trying to do the best thing for you!" 

"I know what's best for me," Oikawa snarled back, his frustration finally leaking through the cracks in his stark detachment. "What's best for me is not being left to rot in the apartment while you're being groped by some pervert-"

"That won't-!" 

"If I stay with the team, I can see you every night," Oikawa said desperately. "I only need a week-"

"You mean I can come home and have you puke all over the place because you can't fucking deal with the stress! It's not fun, Oikawa, to see you like that every single fucking time I come back - and my mom isn't doing well either and I..." Iwaizumi's jaw clenched shut. "I need your support, Oikawa. I can't -" Iwaizumi sighed heavily, running his hands back through his hair. "I can't be the one taking care of you constantly. I hate - really hate - admitting this, but I need a break. I don't want to go to work for hours, then take care of my mom, and then go home and have to babysit you as well. I just can't do it, Oikawa." 

Oikawa's answering silence made Iwaizumi's lungs squeeze tighter than ever, breaths lumpy and hard. 

"I need a drink," Oikawa cut through the silence, standing up. Iwaizumi lurched forward and grabbed his arm, stopping him from going any further. 

"No, you don't." 

Oikawa stared at him for a second, then slowly sat down again. He bent forward, raking his hands back through his hair, blowing out a deep sigh. 

Iwaizumi waited. 

He was silent much too long for Iwaizumi's liking, the meal stone cold and forgotten in front of them. Iwaizumi didn't think either of them felt like eating, somehow. 

"I'm sorry." 

It was the sincere heaviness of those words that got to Iwaizumi, striking his bones and shaking his blood within his veins. He hadn't expected Oikawa to say that. Much less continue. 

"I didn't realise that your mom wasn't...well, recovering," Oikawa began hesitantly. "I never considered things like that before. I need to..." He pushed away from the table, standing up mechanically. "I need to think." 

There was a very simple solution to this, Iwaizumi thought as he watched Oikawa walk away. He could stop drinking so damn much. So simple, and yet so very, very far from easy. 

It didn't seem like Oikawa thought that that was even possible. 

\--

Iwaizumi followed him a little while later. Perhaps he shouldn't have, but he needed to ask him something. He found Oikawa curled up on the far side of the couch, staring blankly at the crippled television. The smell of smoke met Iwaizumi as he approached, and then Oikawa exhaled another lazy cloud, the cigarette ash dripping from between his smoke-swirled fingers. 

His unnatural rigidity was a heavy blow to Iwaizumi's chest. He didn't sit down beside him - just turned, standing near him, to gaze at the stark cracks webbing the glass screen with fists jammed deep in his pockets. His palms were beginning to sweat. Oikawa's stillness disturbed him. 

It was a good few moments before Iwaizumi could blurt out his question. 

"Do you really depend on drinking that much?" 

_ Why aren't you giving it up? _

Oikawa's response was slow, nondescript. He took another calm drag. 

"Mm." 

"You don't have to, you know. I'm here. You can rely on me."

Oikawa turned those flatly lit eyes upon him. "That's the thing. You keep saying that you're here, but when you're working, it feels like you barely are. Maybe I'm being selfish, maybe I'm being demanding, but I'm still not satisfied." 

Iwaizumi dragged his palms down his face. "I don't know how I can possibly satisfy you." 

Oikawa was silent for a bit, then released a hard chuckle. "I'm difficult to satisfy, to say the least." 

"I'm doing my best," Iwaizumi told him.

"Sometimes our best isn't good enough," Oikawa spat out harshly, and Iwaizumi caught himself taking an instinctive step back. Oikawa swallowed, folding himself up smaller as he shook his head. "I'm sorry. I need space to think." 

The message was pretty clear. 

_ Go away _ . 

Iwaizumi nodded, nothing more than a short incline of his chin, and left. He needed to think, too. 

He'd let Oikawa come to him when he was ready. 

\---

Later, Oikawa did come to him. Iwaizumi's body was still steaming, heated from his ramped-up jogging and the clear water of the blissful shower afterwards. He glanced up from some sports magazine he'd found lying around idle as Oikawa padded in the doorway. He dropped his gaze again, and stayed staring at the page he hadn't turned in twenty minutes. Oikawa plopped down beside him, shuffling around to get comfortable, as if it was the bed sheets which were unnerving him. 

There was a pause of a few seconds where he was unmoving, and Iwaizumi still couldn't turn towards him. Iwaizumi heard a deep sigh, and felt a weight on his tense shoulder, Oikawa's unmistakably textured hair ghosting against the side of his face. His hand slipped down the inside of Iwaizumi's, unfurling it tenderly, and left it there, fingers resting, tangled together. Breath thick and heavy, Iwaizumi flicked over to the next page, anticipation crushing his chest. 

"I was reading that," came Oikawa's protesting whine, and the sound was so predictable, so blessedly normal that Iwaizumi smiled. "Sorry."

He returned to the previous spread, and this time he was able to read it. 

\--

They didn't talk, exactly. Not about what they needed to, in any case. I'm sure you know the type of chatter - the type that pours out about anything but the dreaded, cursed subject, if only to put it off for a little while longer. That was the kind of talking they did, a window in time where they pretended money and alcohol didn't exist. A silent sort of truce. 

They passed comments on the athletes featured, sometimes generous, sometimes harsh, occasionally downright cruel - "He looks exactly like a toad, Iwa-chan. Not even a frog, frogs can be cute. A frumpy toad. Don't tell me that you don't see it too!" - but always free and easy. Oikawa's laughter was frequent and relaxed in his ear, his fingers cool and reassuring in his. Iwaizumi wished that this delay - this mutual procrastination - could go on forever. 

Eventually, they reached the end of the magazine, and Iwaizumi shut it with a reluctance he barely bothered to attempt to hide. He rotated towards Oikawa. "T-"

The first syllable of his name wasn't even past his lips when Oikawa closed his mouth over his. And when Oikawa's hand trailed down his chest to his belt, paused for a questioning heartbeat, then fell lower, Iwaizumi did nothing to stop him.

They didn't talk. They made love - a soft and caring endeavour, Iwaizumi made sure of that - and he remembered, as Oikawa's fingernails scrabbled at his shoulders, as tiny pants spilled past his kiss-stained lips, thinking that if this was all a distraction, if this was all temporary, then he didn't want reality. However, reality gave him no say in the matter. 

Half-dressed, pupils still beautifully broad and sweat gleaming on his pale skin, Oikawa stopped him from putting on his shirt, gaze skipping over the whitened skin shaped exactly like a gash running from just under Iwaizumi's left breast to just above his right hip. Shifting closer, Oikawa's fingers outstretched, tracing the length, Iwaizumi's muscles sighing with contentment at his touch. 

"I'd do it again," Iwaizumi said quietly. 

Oikawa's eyelashes fluttered, gaze floating upwards to meet Iwaizumi's. His eyes slid over to the accented bruise on his temple, and guilt flashed through his gaze. 

"I know that," he replied, voice equally as hushed. "It's why I'd do anything for you." 

Iwaizumi closed his eyes, sensing Oikawa move nearer still, flushed lips pressing against his shoulder, collarbone, neck dotted with fresh marks, jaw. Lips. Oikawa stole his breath, and when Iwaizumi opened his eyes, he handed over his heart too. He focused on the way his lips skewed crookedly when he smiled - the way the teenage acne still clung onto patches of his jawline, the way strands of hair stuck to his forehead when he perspired. The way Iwaizumi's heart barely felt like it was there anymore - it had no weight in his chest, no purpose only to be cradled by Oikawa's slender fingers. Brown eyes that shone like spiderweb gold tracked across his face warmly, and they didn't need to speak. 

Iwaizumi took Oikawa's hand in his and kissed his fingers. 

Oikawa was so, so far from perfect, and Iwaizumi was so, so deeply in love with him. 

\---

They were tidying up the last of their miscellaneous items when a knock sounded on the door. 

Both of them tensed up, unmoving. 

Iwaizumi shot a glance at the clock - it was still two hours to the deadline Oikawa’s father had given them, but he couldn't say for certain that it wasn't him. He turned back to Oikawa, whose eyes were frozen, wide and looking as trapped as Iwaizumi felt. 

His lips parted, but his words never came. 

“Hey, Oikawa! I've got your shit, so come and get it!” 

Hearing Yaku’s shout, they both relaxed, the tension leaking from their bodies. 

Throwing Iwaizumi a glance of relief, Oikawa made his way to the door before stopping abruptly. He turned slightly, shaped lips pulled thin as his eyes met Iwaizumi's, one finger tapping against his cheek. Iwaizumi nodded and strode down past him, answering the door without hesitation. 

If he kept Yaku at one side, it should be okay. 

If he saw, he saw. Iwaizumi wasn't going to tell him anything but the truth. No matter how much Oikawa wanted to hide it. 

“Yo,” he greeted, swinging open the door. “Thanks for bringing his stuff back.” 

“Yeah, well, couldn't blame you for not coming back to get it after that whole dramatic fiasco,” Yaku stated bluntly, dumping the bag at Iwaizumi’s feet. “I'm sure he'll be glad to have his phone back - his sister was blowing it up until I answered and told her to wait. Make sure he calls her back, she sounded really worried.”

Wondering how much she knew, Iwaizumi stooped down to grab the bag, and Yaku’s gaze fixed on the side of his head. 

“Where's Oikawa?” 

Iwaizumi hesitated, unsure of what to say. 

“He's back there,” he settled on, indicating with his head as he straightened up. 

Yaku's eyes flitted past him, suspicion clambering up into his stare. “Did something happen? Is he alright? How'd you get that bruise?” 

Iwaizumi grimaced. “He's fine, but his father wasn't very happy that he'd dropped out of the match, and -” 

“Yaku-chan!” 

Oikawa popped up behind Iwaizumi, smiling brightly. “What a surprise to see you here! How're you doing?” 

“Call me Yaku-chan again and I swear I’ll…” 

Yaku's voice dragged out into silence, his light brown eyes examining the bruises spread across Oikawa's cheek like tatters of cloth. 

“How are you?” Yaku asked, concern lacing through his voice. 

Oikawa's smile didn't drop an inch. “I'm fine, Yaku-chan! Absolutely perfect-”

“Oikawa. How. Are. You.” 

Iwaizumi turned to Oikawa slightly, watching the edges of his overly upbeat grin dim. 

“I'm fine, Yaku, really,” Oikawa reassured him. “It's not a big deal.” 

“Is that true?” Yaku's eyes skipped over to Iwaizumi, who shrugged. 

“Hajime doesn't speak for me. I can talk perfectly okay myself,” Oikawa spoke out, his words clipped with annoyance. “I'm telling you the truth, Yaku. It's fine.” 

“But-” 

“It's not going to happen again.”

Iwaizumi's voice was quiet, but forceful, certain. The worry in Yaku's expression eased somewhat. 

“Okay,” Yaku conceded, and his hand lifted, tapping Oikawa in the chest. “Take care of yourself, you hear me? And Iwaizumi, if you don't watch out for him I'll beat your ass. Personally.” 

Iwaizumi cracked a smile. “You don't have to threaten me for me to do that.” 

“Anything to do with Hajime’s ass is my business,” Oikawa declared, narrowing his eyes down at Yaku. “Back off. I know you ‘claim’ to be straight but I'm watching you.” 

Yaku rolled his eyes. “I worry about how your mind works sometimes. Beating his ass has nothing to do with his flat butt, so I don't think you have to worry.” 

“His butt is not flat!” Oikawa objected heatedly. “It's nicely rounded!” 

“Alright, alright, stop discussing my butt. I'm right here,” Iwaizumi interjected, sighing. 

Oikawa's hand dropped down and pinched his ass through his jeans, to which Iwaizumi promptly smacked his hand away. Yaku gave Oikawa a deadpan stare.

“I'm leaving.” 

“Thanks for bringing my stuff back,” Oikawa said gratefully, zipping open the bag and fishing out his phone. His expression slacked as soon as he lit up the screen, dismay falling over his features. “Oh…”

Iwaizumi's eyes darted over, and his eyebrows shot up. “Thirty-seven missed calls?! Are they all from your sister?” 

“Looks like it,” Oikawa answered flatly, scrolling down. “I suppose I'll have to talk to her at some stage. Oh, Suga-kun’s been calling too.” 

“Yeah, well, if you didn't know what was happening it was very confusing,” Yaku started. “Iwaizumi just kind of appeared out of nowhere, took you from the court and walked right out again. There was even a small news piece on it speculating about what the fuck was going on. I can't tell you how many damn times I've had to dodge reporters.” 

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi said shortly. 

“Nah, don't feel sorry for me. I can disappear into crowds easily. Feel sorry for Ushijima, he sticks out a mile everywhere he goes.” 

Oikawa made a face. “Oh yes, I'm sure all the reporters come to him for the latest gossip.” 

“You'd be surprised,” Yaku sighed out, placing his hands on his waist. “He doesn't know what to say and what not to. He's a media disaster.” 

Oikawa's eyes glinted. “Oh please, go on. Bitch about Tobio-chan while you're at it, too.” 

Yaku stared him down blankly. “He told me you apologised to him.” 

“Psh, that doesn't mean I suddenly stop hating him,” Oikawa dismissed him with a wave. “I only acknowledged that my behaviour was childish, nothing more.” 

Iwaizumi arched an eyebrow. “That's...remarkably mature of you.” 

“Hey, I'm an adult!”

“Apparently.” 

Oikawa shoved his shoulder into Iwaizumi’s, hard. “I'm taking offence at that.” 

“Okay, I'm heading off now, before you two start fucking making out or something gross,” Yaku told them, flipping Oikawa off and nodding to Iwaizumi before turning around. “See you two around.” 

“You too!” Oikawa chirped out, bending down to pick up his bag. 

Iwaizumi got there first, wrapping his fingers around the cloth handle. “Don't put any extra weight on your knee, idiot.” 

“Mm, you're right,” Oikawa said thoughtfully, shutting the door as Iwaizumi made his way down the hall. “In that case, you should carry me everywhere.” 

“Fuck off. There's no way I'm-” 

He was broken off by Oikawa’s sudden weight on his back, throwing him forwards a bit before he adjusted to the load. 

“Onwards!” Oikawa cried out, clinging onto Iwaizumi’s neck with one arm and flinging the other out straight ahead. 

Rolling his eyes, but not bothering to smooth over the grin quirking his lips upwards, Iwaizumi headed to the kitchen, one arm crooked underneath Oikawa's bent knees. Oikawa hummed happily in his ear, enjoying the mild bounding sensation of Iwaizumi's steady trod. 

Once reaching the kitchen - Iwaizumi was barely out of breath, Oikawa was very impressed - he dropped the bag, and whirled around, slipping Oikawa onto the tabletop. Oikawa let go, content to swing his legs freely over the edge, fingers curling over the side. Iwaizumi turned around, to face him, arms entwining around his waist and pulling him in, his torso slotting neatly between Oikawa's thighs. 

Oikawa responded in kind, his arms resting on Iwaizumi's shoulders and his chin on top of his head. He sighed lightly, closing his eyes. 

“I really want a cheeseburger right now.” 

“Yeah. I'm getting hungry too,” came Iwaizumi's soft reply, slightly muffled by the faceful of Oikawa's shirt. “We could go to Freshness.” 

“Mm, but wouldn't it be cheaper to make something? As long as you're cooking, I don't mind,” Oikawa said, knowing that every small bit saved mattered to Iwaizumi. 

Iwaizumi’s mouth downturned, and he reached up to the back of Oikawa's neck, coaxing him downwards so their faces were almost level. 

“Listen,” Iwaizumi told him lowly. “I know our situation is shitty. I know I'm putting financial pressure on you that you really shouldn't have, and I still don't understand why you go so far to help me out with money-” 

Oikawa gave a little snort, and Iwaizumi paused. 

“Really?” Oikawa asked. “No idea? No idea at all?”

They looked at each other for a moment, and Oikawa raised his eyebrows. Iwaizumi's cheeks began flushing, and he started speaking again, before something else slipped past his lips. 

“But you do, anyway. And we’ll figure something out. I have a small bit of savings we could fall back on, if there's nothing else.”

Despite his words, Iwaizumi finished with a hint of uncertainty in his voice, his teeth biting hard into his bottom lip. Oikawa leaned in closer, hands cupping his face lovingly as he smiled at him. 

“We will figure something out, Hajime. You don't have to worry. Clear that look off your face or you'll get wrinkles.”

Iwaizumi's lips parted softly into a breath-spinning smile, a smile that made Oikawa feel like he'd split apart both of his knees if only Hajime would keep smiling at him like this. Fuck that, he'd happily play on a team full of nobody but Tobios and Ushijimas if Hajime smiled like that. It was a good thing Iwaizumi didn't ask him to do anything ridiculous like dive through a window - even jokingly - because Oikawa couldn't be sure that he wouldn't. He probably would.

Oh my god, Oikawa thought, absorbing the image like a piece of the finest, most masterful artwork. I'd totally murder someone if he asked me to. 

Iwaizumi's smile faded, replaced with vague worry as his eyes scanned Oikawa's expression. “Are you okay? You look a little… uh…”

His ears gave away how flustered he was, painted a dark red. Oikawa laughed lightly, resting his forehead against his. His skin was hot.  “It's nothing.” 

_ I’m just helplessly in love you _ , was the unuttered echo on his lips.  _ That's all.  _

“Oh...good.” 

Iwaizumi's eyes ghosted across his face, finally resting quietly on his lips, then drifting back up to meet his eyes. Oikawa smiled. 

“Since when have you been shy, Hajime?” 

“I'm not being shy. Shut up.” 

Iwaizumi had to stretch upwards to reach his mouth, and Oikawa was tempted to straighten up just to annoy him, but sadly, he wanted a kiss just as badly. It outweighed his desire to piss Iwaizumi off - just by a fraction.

He bent over and clasped their lips together, feeling Iwaizumi’s hands slide up his back. Iwaizumi kissed him sweetly, a tender, closed-mouth press of a mouth against his. Oikawa's legs slunk around his waist, heels sinking into his lower back as he pressed Iwaizumi even nearer to the countertop - Iwaizumi was sure there'd be a line imprint across his waist - but right now, he didn't care. 

A bit later, Oikawa broke away with a satisfied sigh, his slender fingertips running down the length of Iwaizumi's neck. His touch, like always, was cool but intimate, and like always, it made Iwaizumi want to warm up every inch of his body with his. 

Oikawa sighed again, this time a lot less happy.

“I guess I have to call my sister now, don't I?”

“Yeah, she might be annoyed if you ignore her any longer,” Iwaizumi replied, pulling away with a gentle caress of Oikawa's thigh. 

“I wonder what my father told her,” Oikawa mused as he hopped down from the table, onto his left foot. 

“I suppose that's what you'll find out.” Iwaizumi regarded him for a second, then turned around. “I'll give you some privacy. Check that we have everything.” 

“Thanks,” Oikawa said absently, leaning against the counter and drumming his fingers along the smooth top. 

He sighed deeply as Iwaizumi left. He wasn't very good at biting the bullet - he'd rather delay it for as long as possible, and especially with such unpleasantness as this. Wondering if she would yell at him or would he escape with a light chiding for not answering her calls, he tapped her name. 

Chewing his bottom lip, Oikawa waited as it rang out, his drumming becoming quicker and quicker with every second. He didn't have long to wait.

“Tooru!” 

“Hi, sis,” Oikawa greeted as confidently as he could manage. “How's things?”

“Well, Dad came home and broke the dishwasher because it wouldn't close properly, so just brilliant,” came the cool reply. “Fess up, what happened? He told us that you wouldn't go back to the team and this guy assaulted him - was he Iwaizumi? What happened, Tooru? He's got a massive bruise on his jaw!” 

Oikawa's lips opened, but he didn't edge a word in before his sister barrelled onwards. 

"He said that you had a roommate who was violent and dangerous, and that attacked both of you! That wasn't Iwaizumi, surely, was-"   
  
"I can't believe you actually think he's telling the truth!" Oikawa burst out, his hand clenching around the slim phone. "Sis, use your own head! What do you think happened?"   
  
There was a short pause.   
  
"Well, I don't really know Iwaizumi-"   
  
"Hajime would never hurt me," Oikawa announced to her, and the truth of it made his chest inflate. "Listen, I know you think Father wouldn't have hit me in front of anyone, but he was so angry that he did, okay? Hajime simply defended me, Father lied about all of that!"   
  
There was a hush, and Oikawa's jaw welded shut, waiting for her response.   
  
"I thought he stopped doing that."   
  
He'd never hit Oikawa's sister. She was good enough. He wasn't. Never was.   
  
"Yeah, well, guess not," Oikawa answered dryly, touching the tender spot on his cheek. "You..."   
  
He hesitated.   
  
"You were away at uni, and I knew if I told you you'd confront him but he could've gotten mad at you, too. He could've pulled the rug out from underneath you."

“Tooru, you shouldn't have been worried about me, I could've -”

“Don't patronise me,” Oikawa cut across her swiftly, cool and icy. “I know how much you needed the money, and I don't regret keeping quiet. It wasn't that bad, really -”

“It doesn't matter whether it was bad or not! I'm going to go and talk to him -”

“No, don't! It's fine, he's not going to come back again,” Oikawa protested, his fingers whitening on the table. 

“Tooru! Stop making it out like it's nothing! I'm going to talk to him, and that's that!” 

His sister’s voice ascended to a heightened, almost distressed pitch, daring him to cut across her again. Oikawa bit his lip. Stubbornness ran in the family, and he'd rarely succeeded, if ever, at convincing his sister not to do something she was determined to, even with his gold-leaded tongue. 

“Fine. Go right ahead,” he spat out bitterly, fingernails clawing into his palms. “But it's not going to change anything. I'll still be the failed child in his eyes.” 

There was a pause - a second of silence where Oikawa's words sunk in through skin, skin which finally realised the secrets behind his behaviour. 

“Is that really what you think?” 

Despite his sharp snapping, her voice had softened, and the pity only made Oikawa angrier. 

“Yeah, because it's true, and both you and I know it, so you can talk to him all you want - it won't matter for shit in the end!” 

“We'll see. I'll try, Tooru. I'll really try to make him see reason, okay? Take care in the meantime. I'll ring you tonight.” 

She hung up, and Oikawa released a breath, vicious and quick. He hated how levelheaded his sister was at times. He wished she would scream back at him like they were kids again, instead of her attempting to sort out all of his problems for him. He could deal with shit himself. He had for years. 

I sound like Hajime, Oikawa thought, with a quiet snort of amusement. Independent bastard. 

He flitted over to the doorway, hearing Iwaizumi move around in the bedroom, and hesitated. It was against every instinct ingrained in his bones to speak about his parents - particularly his father, even telling his sister had been taxing enough - but this was Hajime. It should be different, shouldn't it? 

His fingers gripped onto the handle, squeezing tight and hard. Swallowing, he heard the sound resonate in his ears. 

It's okay, he reassured himself. Hajime won't press me to tell me anything I don't want to. 

With that thought in mind, he swung open the door, greeting Iwaizumi with only a slightly warbling smile as he passed through the doorway. 

As he'd predicted, Iwaizumi acknowledged him with a nod, a glance over his reserved form, and returned to his work. Oikawa breathed a sigh of relief, and joined him, already running his mouth about something neither of them remember. 

\-----

Iwaizumi didn't ask about the conversation- not exactly. Oikawa could tell he was dying to know, but it was Oikawa family business, and he was somewhat slow to open up. He didn't want to get into his history with his parents, or childhood, or any of the past. It was over, no point in dredging it up again to spruce up the ugliness. 

“Is that...just sugar and water?” 

Iwaizumi squinted skeptically at the apparatus Oikawa had set up across the table, his own palms mothering a steaming cup. Oikawa grinned back at him, breaking open the bag of sugar with much more vigour than necessary. 

“It's one of my specialities,” Oikawa announced proudly, loading sugar onto a tablespoon. “Once me and my sister set up a sugar water stall outside our house when I was eleven or so.” 

Iwaizumi gave him a look. “Poor adults, being guilted into paying for that shit.”

“Hey! We guilted nobody, at least not on purpose! It wasn't my fault that I was an adorable kid and people adored me.” 

Oikawa huffed, scooping even more into his glass. Iwaizumi simply raised his mug to his lips and said nothing, letting his incredulous gaze speak for him. Oikawa stuck out his tongue at him like a child, and then added an obscene gesture that wasn't quite so childish. 

“You robbed stuff when you were younger, you don't get to judge me,” he retorted, and Iwaizumi lowered his mug. 

“What you were doing was nothing less of robbery,” he responded, and he was probably right, but Oikawa wasn't about to admit that. 

He swigged down a bit of the sweet liquid, and decided that it wasn't sweet enough. Swishing it around, he stared into the glass, eyebrows furrowing together. He hadn't been able to erase the conversation with his sister from his mind, despite Hajime’s constant supportive distractions. He sort of doubted that the sick feeling in his stomach was from the small amount of sugar water, too. 

Oikawa did feel like Hajime had a right to know some of the story, at least. He was involved now, whether Oikawa liked it or not - and he really didn't. 

“She's going to talk to him,” he said eventually, changing the topic without any indication. 

A flash of Iwaizumi's eyes upwards showed his relief, glad that he found out without having to press Oikawa. 

Iwaizumi nodded, swirling the spoon around in his coffee. “I wish her luck, but do you think it'll make any difference? People like that don't change after a conversation.” 

His fist crushed up against his cheek lopsidedly, Oikawa gave a sigh, watching more of the sugar particles drift gently down into the depths of his mug. 

“I can't exactly stop her if she's got her mind made up. She's as stubborn as you.” 

Iwaizumi stopped, raising his eyebrows, incredulous. 

“You mean as stubborn as you.” 

Oikawa tilted his head to the side, clinking his spoon against the side of the glass as he poured the last spoonful into the water. 

“I'm not stubborn. You're the stubborn one,” Oikawa said lightly, plopping down into the seat next to him. 

“You're the most stubborn person I've ever met, apart from maybe my mom,” Iwaizumi countered, taking another gulp of his beverage. 

“See! It runs in your family!”

“The same point can apply to you, idiot.” 

Iwaizumi hid his smile behind his mug as Oikawa balked, delaying the instant he had to respond by swigging some sugar water down. 

“Yeah, well, you were stubborn enough to leap across buildings just to get me,” was his eventual reply, coupled with a thick pout. “Anyone else would've waited for the match to be over, but you just had to come and get me, didn't you? You made a plan, and you were stubborn enough to go through with it. Or stupid. Probably both.” 

“And who was stubborn enough to decide to take my problems and make it their own?” 

“You know what?”

“What?”

“Shut up, Hajime.” 

Iwaizumi snorted, the air making temporary little hollows in his coffee. “Does that mean I win?”

Leaning over, Oikawa shoved at his shoulder, a tiny hint of a grin peeking out of the corner of his mouth. 

“I told you to shut up!” 

Iwaizumi’s own grin escaped him, and when his full laughter followed, Oikawa laughed with him. 

\---

**sis** : He's away on a business trip. Won't be back for a few days, and I want to do this face to face. Mom refuses to talk to me about it. 

**lil’ bro tooru** : okay. 

Oikawa locked his phone, butterflies hatching in his stomach. In a way, he was glad the conversation was delayed. On the other hand, he wanted to get the shitstorm over with - not that he'd be directly a part of it, but he'd be at the centre of it, too. 

Iwaizumi glanced over to him, at his knotted shoulders clutched into his body, and reached an arm around him, pressing his lips to the side of his head. Oikawa curled in against his side, nestling his face into the crook of his neck, and tried to concentrate on the flickering laptop screen. 

“How're you doing?” 

Iwaizumi spoke soft and low, into the fluffy bush of Oikawa's hair. 

“I'm fine. She won't get the chance to talk to him for a few days,” Oikawa confided, closing his eyes. “I don't know how I feel about that.” 

“Be grateful. It'll give you some time to sort your head out.” 

“Pfft, as if I need to sort my head out,” Oikawa scoffed, bathing in the comforting heat of Iwaizumi’s slouched body. “I want to get it over with.” 

He tilted his face upwards, pressing a kiss to the underside of Iwaizumi's jaw. He heard a warm hum, then a slow shift sideways, and then careful, gentle lips kissing him, so assuring that Oikawa barely felt the need to kiss back, return the light pressure. A second later, Iwaizumi’s fingers were skimming up the side of Oikawa's neck, tracing his form with an admiration and appreciation people usually reserve for holding a newborn child. Having to shuffle around on the couch a little, Oikawa squished himself up against Iwaizumi’s chest as much as he possibly could, parting his lips - a clear invitation for a deeper connection. 

He wanted to be distracted, and, admittedly, Iwaizumi's mouth and large, cradling hands did a damn fine job of taking his mind off of things. 

\---

"Whoa, what happened to you two?" Matsukawa asked as soon as he saw them, pulling up in his piece of junk that somehow passed for car. "It looks like you got carried away with the BDSM." 

"Oikawa's father slapped him so hard that his nose started bleeding, and I couldn't just stand by," Iwaizumi said shortly. 

Oikawa pressed his lips together and said nothing. 

“What?” Matsukawa asked, but Iwaizumi had the feeling it wasn't a real question. “Why the fuck did his dad hit him?” 

“It doesn't matter,” Oikawa told him clearly, beaming at him. “Let's get these boxes packed away, shall we?” 

Nobody answered him. Oikawa’s grin faltered more with every moment that passed, Iwaizumi's hand touching his quietly. Matsukawa’s eyes flicked over to Oikawa sharply, connections being made swiftly. 

“So all those times in high school when you told us you walked into a pole - or that you'd been practicing receives at home -”

“Well, what was I supposed to do?!” Oikawa demanded abruptly. “Report him? My mother didn't have a job, and he was putting my sister through law school, for god's sake! You think she could've done that on a part-time job in a shitty restaurant?” 

“You could've at least told us!” 

“Why? What difference would that have made?” Oikawa’s fingers were forming indents on the cardboard sides. “It's not like anything would've changed, so fucking leave it already!” 

A silence smothered them, and Matsukawa pressed his lips together. 

“Let's get these in the car,” Oikawa said flatly, and this time he didn't even attempt a smile. 

He rounded the car and opened the boot, leaving Iwaizumi to chew on his lower lip and Matsukawa to drum absently on the steering wheel. 

“Thanks for helping us move,” Iwaizumi offered lamely, moving to assist Oikawa. 

Matsukawa's eyebrows rose as he watched him. "No problem. I hope you gave him what he deserved, though. Those look really painful.”

"Not so much anymore," Oikawa chirped out brightly, overhearing them. "Anyways, get out of the car and help us with these." 

“I'm driving you, isn't that enough?” Matsukawa grumbled, but he dragged himself up out of the seat nonetheless. He moved closer to Oikawa and grabbed his wrist. “That's the reason you're moving, right? Say you sent that fucker packing. He's not coming to harass you more, is he?”

“Don't talk about my father like that,” Oikawa snapped back, narrowing his eyes. 

Iwaizumi stopped dead, and looked at Oikawa. 

“He's my father,” Oikawa said helplessly. 

“He's a piece of shit,” Iwaizumi countered, not willing to soften his words. “And you don't deserve him as a father.” 

Oikawa lowered his gaze, blowing out a deep breath. “I…look, let's just move this stuff. And Mattsun, he's not coming back, I'm pretty sure.” 

“You're ‘pretty’ sure?” Matsukawa questioned, bundling a stack of boxes into the back. 

“He's not coming back,” Iwaizumi told him, loading up. “If he does, I'll take care of him.” 

“Iwa-chan, you can't-”

“I can and I will. Don't try to talk me out of it.”

Oikawa caught his gaze, beseeching him silently, but Iwaizumi only shook his head. He wasn't going to change his mind. 

“Can you leave the arguing stuff until we're at the house? Otherwise this car ride will be fairly uncomfortable and I'm not willing to do a couples counselling session,” Matsukawa requested bluntly. 

“It's fine,” Iwaizumi said as he placed the final box onto the last free seat in the back. “I'm walking.” 

“But you've never been to our crib before.” 

“If you're walking, then I'll walk too….”

Oikawa's words trailed off, realising how stupid the suggestion was. A few more pills and he'd forgotten about his knee already. 

“It's alright,” Iwaizumi told them both. “I just need directions.” 

“There is room in the car, if we pack some stuff into the boot,” Matsukawa suggested, peering in. “Because it's like two hours walk, y’know. And it's not easy to find.”

“I'll be fine.” 

Iwaizumi stuffed his hands down deep into his pockets, shoulders square as he angled his head to the side, urging them to get going. Oikawa stepped up to him, his extra height lending him the higher ground as Iwaizumi stared up stubbornly at him. 

“Come with us,” Oikawa asked quietly. 

Iwaizumi shook his head. “I'm not getting in that.” 

“Nothing's going to happen,” Oikawa assured him. 

Iwaizumi glanced away, upwards. “That doesn't make me feel any better.” 

“You can't avoid cars forever,” Oikawa pointed out, his hands aching to wrap around Iwaizumi’s, but unable to reach them, shoved into the depths of his pockets. 

He opted to touch Iwaizumi’s arm instead, but Iwaizumi didn't respond. He didn't pull away though, which spurred on Oikawa. 

“Please. I don't want to be at home worrying about you.”

“I don't want to relive-” Iwaizumi spoke back sharply, then cut himself off hastily. “You don't have to worry, because I'll be fine. I know I'll be fine if I walk.” 

Frustration coursed through Oikawa, his shoulders heightening into tense knots. 

“There's a chance of dying no matter what you do! A bus could go out of control or a van mightn't see you or countless other things - it doesn't make sense to avoid cars just because you got into an accident six years ago and-” 

“Oikawa,” Matsukawa’s voice broke in. “Lay off of him.” 

Iwaizumi knocked Oikawa's hand off his arm with a violent wrench away, his eyes creasing up. Expecting him to be angry, Oikawa bundled his hands into fists and prepared himself for a snapped-out answer, maybe him storming off. He didn't expect to see Iwaizumi’s lips tremble. 

Oikawa's eyes widened. 

“Oh my God - Hajime, I didn't mean to-” 

“I know,” came Iwaizumi’s soft whisper, and he swallowed, a hand rising to wipe across his eyes. “I understand what you're getting at, but...give me time, alright?” 

“Okay,” Oikawa answered, and he winced at how weak his voice sounded. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push so hard.” 

Iwaizumi managed a quivering half-smile. “You wouldn't be you if you weren't so demanding.” 

Oikawa's gaze fell, thinking of Iwaizumi telling him that it was okay with him to wait until he was ready to talk about his drinking, telling him that he didn't mind Oikawa keeping secrets from him until he was ready to tell him, telling him wordlessly that he'd stay no matter how flawed Oikawa was. 

“But you've been so patient with me,” Oikawa breathed out. “And I just-”

This time it was Iwaizumi who placed a hand on Oikawa's arm. 

“Stop worrying.” 

He smiled at him, full and strong, and Oikawa felt his heart shivering pleasantly within his ribcage, beating strong and full in reply to Iwaizumi's wordless reassurance. Oikawa reached out his arms and embraced Iwaizumi close, ignoring Matsukawa’s fake gagging sound effects behind him. Feeling arms wrap around his waist, Oikawa smiled into the hollow of Iwaizumi’s neck, his warmth soothing as always. 

“Okay,” Oikawa declared, breaking away after a few seconds and holding Iwaizumi by the shoulders. “We’d better get going. Mattsun, give him directions and we’ll see you in a few hours.” 

Oikawa rotated around and squinted at Matsukawa warningly. “If you give him bullshit useless directions, I will slap you, personally. And hard.” 

“How about a spanking instead?” Matsukawa responded automatically, and Oikawa flipped him off, rolling his eyes. 

Matsukawa gave Iwaizumi detailed directions, and Iwaizumi filtered them away, praying that he'd be able to reach his house. Despite his assured proclamation, he didn't like navigating to places alone, and Matsukawa wasn't kidding when he said it wasn't easy to get there. 

“Then turn right at the shitty little sushi place with a red sign - make sure you get that, otherwise you're fucked for the rest of the walk and lord knows where you'll end up - and then the second left down a dirty alleyway. We're the house at the end of that,” Matsukawa finished, and Iwaizumi typed the final instructions into his phone notes cautiously. 

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, glancing over at Matsukawa’s car as he pocketed his phone again. He could feel Oikawa's eyes on him, and he reluctantly met his gaze. Soft regret was written all over his face, shame etched into the brown shades of his irises, and Iwaizumi shook his head slowly, refusing his silent apology. 

Oikawa parted his lips, and Iwaizumi clapped a palm over his mouth. 

“You're thinking about it too much.” 

Oikawa's eyes widened, and he tried to speak again, but Iwaizumi didn't let him, wishing he could stop Oikawa overthinking so easily. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on the back of his hand where Oikawa's lips were, then dropped his hand back down. 

“I'll see you in a few hours,” Iwaizumi told him, and, despite biting into his lower lip, Oikawa nodded, thankfully staying silent. 

Iwaizumi just hoped that his thoughts were as silent as him. But with any luck, Matsukawa and Hanamaki would keep him distracted, keep his mind off of his apparent fuck-up. 

“Alright, see ya,” was Matsukawa’s airy farewell as he slotted himself into the driver’s seat. “C’mon, Oiks.”

Loitering in front of Iwaizumi, Oikawa nodded absently, scanning Iwaizumi’s face with a concerned wrinkling of the edges of his eyes. Smiling reassuringly at him, Iwaizumi swung a hand into his upper arm. 

“Stop looking at me and get into the car. The sooner we both leave, the better.” 

“Ow,” Oikawa complained sulkily, rubbing his upper arm, but his eyes reflected no pain. “Fine, if you're going to be like that.” 

He flaunted off, and Iwaizumi lifted his hand in farewell as Matsukawa pulled away from the curb. Through the back windscreen, he saw Oikawa twist around in his seat, a small flash of worry showing on his face before he smiled and waggled his fingers, blowing Iwaizumi a kiss. 

\---

Iwaizumi's gut was rarely wrong, and, because of this, he tended to listen to it, pay close attention to every warning twinge. 

Right now, it was giving him a lot more than a cautionary tug. It was yanking at his insides, frantically trying to make his brain, all the way up at the top of his body, pay attention. 

Iwaizumi's eyes could find nothing wrong, but after all, he couldn't see much. Dead litter skipped across the empty street in front of him, the graffiti plaguing the walls offering no help. It was still, and reminded him of his old neighbourhood. 

He resisted turning around for a look - his instincts told him there was someone there, and he'd rather not let them know that he was aware of them. On the other hand, he could only be paranoid, but he doubted that. He wasn't rattled easily. 

Iwaizumi's eyes narrowed, his hearing trailing onto any irregularities in the surrounding noise. A cat peered out at him from an alleyway entrance, back rigid and arched as he passed by. He checked the instructions on his phone again to make sure he was on track, and realised that the red sushi place was coming up. He'd been walking about an hour and a half - the neighbourhood Matsukawa and Hanamaki lived in wasn't seedy, but you did have to pass through some sketchy places to get to it. Unless you wanted to go around, but Iwaizumi didn't fancy walking for five hours. 

He was taking a right at the shop, wasn't he? 

He double-checked again, just to be sure, halting sharply. There was the sound of a distant footfall behind him, no longer hidden behind his own, then nothing. The hairs on the back of Iwaizumi's neck prickled. 

Amateur. 

Iwaizumi allowed the silence to stretch out for a few moments, just to let whoever it was know that he knew they were there. Somehow he relaxed a little - if this person was inexperienced enough to give their presence away that easily, they couldn't be much of a threat. He'd been targeted a few times in the last few years, but most muggers took one look at his build and avoided him. 

Most smart muggers, that is. 

Iwaizumi continued walking onwards, towards the corner store, his tread slightly more confident, more light. His phone vibrated against his leg, and he forgot to think against instinct before pulling it out. Glancing at the screen, his thumb lowered, seeing it was Oikawa, probably wondering if he got lost-

In the next second, his hand was empty. 

“Shit!” 

He hadn't heard them. How did they manage to sneak up on him so quickly? Iwaizumi took off after the figure sprinting down the street, screeching left at the red shop. Shit, shit, shit! He had everything on there - including what he needed most right now - directions - not to mention he couldn't afford to spend the money on another one, and why wasn't he thinking why had he become so complacent- 

Iwaizumi’s robber skewed into an alleyway abruptly, and Iwaizumi himself almost overshot the turning, cursing as his runners skidded across loose scrapings of concrete. He stumbled as he ran forwards, catching his balance and feeling the shadows press in overhead. Eyes sharp, he tracked the pursuer’s dim form, just a blemish in the increasing darkness. His hip banged against a filthy rubbish bin, a foul smell clawing its way into his nostrils as the lid clattered to the ground. 

“Fucking- I swear to god-” 

Iwaizumi forged onwards, mostly relying on his ears at this point to guide him. The footsteps had slowed in their urgency, and he too had begun to tread softer, making it easier to hear the cautious steps. Glancing up, he squinted, barely making out a sliver of blackening, sooty sky overhead. Damn, these alleyways were thin. 

After a few more seconds, the footsteps ceased completely. Iwaizumi slowed more, his feet almost soundless as he approached forwards cautiously, one hand braced against the shit-smudged brick. Had they stopped because they thought he'd given up? Where were they? Movement was easier to spot in the fog of evening light, but if they were still… Iwaizumi had to resist the urge to swear aloud once more. He needed his goddamn phone back. 

Something clinked behind him - glass, he barely registered that before whirling around, forced to reflexively twist to the side to avoid the lunging gleam of metal, stabbed towards his torso. Iwaizumi’s body acted by itself, fingers shooting out and seizing the wrist, yanking it mercilessly to the side. He heard a short cry as the knife clattered to the concrete, the black-clad form managing to stumble away from him, ripping their wrist from his grasp. They backed away, and Iwaizumi noted their slender figure, likely a runner, good with fleeing and losing their pursuers, not confrontation. 

Glancing up, Iwaizumi saw a wall of darkness where the person had emerged from. A dead end. He must've been blocking their way out. 

His focus returning to the person, he glimpsed a flash of light in their other hand.  Snatching his phone back out of their hand, he glanced at it, noticing that it was on the call screen. Not on speaker, too low for him to hear any voice, but-

“Would you not fucking hang up?” Iwaizumi snapped out as he tapped the red button. 

He didn't want to give Oikawa any more reason to fret over him than he was already. 

The person shook their head and flew past him, careening around the corner and into the street again, probably figuring that the shitty phone wasn’t worth it. Iwaizumi sighed, checking his phone for any damage. What a wimpy mugger. He made his way out of the alleyways, and frowned. Was it this dark before? He didn’t think so, and now he didn’t know where the fuck he was. Brilliant. He quickly dialled Matsukawa’s number.

“‘Ey, Iwaizumi.”

“Hey, something happened and I’m kind of lost.”

“Where are you -oh wait. Well, where do you think you are?”

“Uh…” Iwaizumi scanned around him, hoping to fuck there was a place name somewhere on the walls or some distinguishing feature, and to his massive relief, he saw a sign. “I’m opposite this shop called Muji?”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope.”

He heard Matsukawa sigh, and a bit of guilt prickled in his chest. 

“I’ll explain-”

A sort of crackling came over the line, along with muffled protests, before Oikawa’s voice thundered through Iwaizumi’s ears. 

“What happened? You didn’t answer my call, and then there was only wind - were you running? What happened, Hajime?”

“Why didn’t you hang up when I wasn’t responding?” Iwaizumi demanded. 

“Because I knew something was going on and I wanted to hear what!”

Iwaizumi paused, dragging a heavy hand over his mouth and chin. “It doesn’t matter. Can you put Matsukawa back on? I need directions back.”

“Don’t blow me off! Answer me!” 

The tone of Oikawa’s whinging voice was beginning to grate on Iwaizumi’s ears, and the sole of his runner scraped irritably against the pavement. 

“I just need directions back, not a fucking interrogation!”

“Tell me what happened!”

Iwaizumi bit his lower lip. “Look, someone grabbed my phone, and I had to chase them here to get it back. That’s all.” 

Somehow, Oikawa’s silence bothered Iwaizumi a lot more than him talking. 

“So, am I allowed to get directions now?” Iwaizumi pushed. 

“It sounded like more happened. I heard something else - like a struggle. How’d you get your phone back?”

Iwaizumi’s jaw tightened. “I don’t appreciate this.”

“I don’t care. It’s to do with your wellbeing, Hajime.”

“I disagree. I think you’re just prying. I left you alone with your ‘secret job,’ didn’t I?”

“It’s different!” Oikawa protested heatedly. “Plus, once you found out, you broke into the stadium and dragged me out! You don’t get to berate me for wanting you to be safe!”

There was dampness on the back of Iwaizumi’s phone as he clenched around it, becoming slippery. 

“It doesn’t matter! I can protect myself, I don’t need you constantly checking up on me-”

“Save it,” Oikawa spat out harshly. “We’re coming to get you.” 

He hung up, and Iwaizumi cursed at a vacant ringtone. 

\---

Matsukawa’s car pulled up about twenty minutes later.

Iwaizumi grimaced. He should’ve known Oikawa would insist on picking him up. He didn’t like it, wasn’t used to someone checking up on him like this, and it felt weird, foreign. He was adapted to going wherever he wanted when he wanted with no regard for himself and Oikawa’s close scrutiny was starting to wear his patience thin, whether it was right or wrong.

Oikawa stepped out of the car, and his hands were fidgeting with the seams of his sleeves. His eyes, on the other hand, looked a lot less anxious and more like fire. Iwaizumi’s mouth went dry, as if he was in trouble. Instead, he lifted his chin up as Oikawa approached, squaring his shoulders stubbornly. Matsukawa followed Oikawa a second later, threading his fingers back through his curly hair, his demeanour not quite as relaxed as usual. 

He stopped in front of Iwaizumi and crossed his arms across his chest. 

“So want to tell me the truth now?” 

His voice was low, accusatory, as if Hajime had done something wrong. Iwaizumi’s defensive side bristled. If he wanted the fucking truth he'd get it. 

“I followed them into an alleyway, I blocked their way out so they came at me with a knife. I heard them knock off a bottle or something, and stopped them, grabbed my phone back, then they ran off. Alright?” 

Oikawa stared at him for a moment. “No, that's not alright! What the fuck? How are you so calm?”

Iwaizumi shrugged. “I've had a lot worse.” 

"Come on. Come in the car with us. It's safer," Oikawa urged, and Iwaizumi's lips shrunk back from his teeth.   
  
"There you go again, deciding what's best for me. I can decide that for myself."   
  
Iwaizumi hadn't intended on it, but his voice came out sharp and cutting, bordering on hostile. Oikawa blinked, looking taken aback.   
  
"Hajime, you know I'm not -"   
  
"I know, but I can handle myself."   
  
Oikawa's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "You got mugged, and almost stabbed."   
  
"Your point?"   
  
"It should be obvious," Oikawa said impatiently. "Get in the car."   
  
"No."   
  
"Mattsun won't give you directions back from here if you don't."   
  
Matsukawa blinked. "I won't?"   
  
"Stay out of this," Oikawa warned him lowly, and Iwaizumi's arms formed a wall across his chest.   
  
"So it's 'this,' now?"   
  
"Well, since you said that, I guess it is," Oikawa shot back, his hand settling on the side of his hip.   
  
"I'm not getting in that," Iwaizumi told him, sure and stubborn.   
  
Oikawa regarded him for a moment, perhaps weighing up his resolve, perhaps still trying to figure out how to change his mind. Thinking, his expression gave a little, the anger slinking down under empathy. He knew why Hajime was so against going in a car, but it was the best thing for him, couldn't he see that? Oikawa had already been overly worried when he'd called to say he was lost, and then the mugging... Oikawa just wanted him to be safe, not jumping across buildings and almost being knifed.   
  
He reached out and clasped Hajime's hand in his.   
  
"Please. For my peace of mind."   
  
Iwaizumi's eyes evaded his, but he didn't break away.

“I'll be fine, Tooru. Stop worrying.” 

“No. Come on,” Oikawa almost begged, tugging on his hand. “If you don't get in, I'll walk with you to make sure you'll get there safely. I know the way back.” 

“Seriously?” Iwaizumi asked. “Firstly, your knee couldn't possibly take that. Secondly, you don't have to keep me safe. I can do that myself.” 

Oikawa's patience was quietly diminishing, the last scrap dissolving into frustration. He stepped up to Iwaizumi, eyes clear and stubborn. 

“Hajime, please! It's getting dark, you have a skull injury that's still healing and if anything else happens-” 

“Nothing else is going to happen!” 

“Whoa, whoa, wait - you're injured?” Matsukawa cut in. 

“Not exactly,” Iwaizumi explained, grimacing. “More like an old wound that's still tender and needs time.” 

“Then, even though I hate to agree with Oiks, you'd better come with us. It's not that long, you've covered most of the distance yourself.” 

Iwaizumi closed his eyes, a breath roughly expelling from his mouth. “Fine. But you stop if I tell you to.” 

“Of course,” Oikawa agreed rapidly, afraid he'd change his mind. He clasped his hand over Iwaizumi’s, and met his worried gaze with a comforting smile. “It'll be fine, Hajime. Trust me.” 

Iwaizumi didn't say anything, only offering him a single nod. Oikawa gently led him to the car, relief lightening his chest. 

\---

“I hope you appreciate this,” Iwaizumi grumbled, trying to be abrasive as he bundled in beside Oikawa. His hands shook as he attempted to click his belt in. 

“It's just to be on the safe side,” Oikawa told him lowly, clacking his buckle in in one swift movement. 

Iwaizumi rattled out a breath, his eyes low as his fingers sought out Oikawa's arm, each one rigid and as tense as a clamp. “I'm not used to playing it safe.” 

“Maybe you should get used to it,” Oikawa muttered under his breath. 

Iwaizumi stopped, twisting around in his seat to look at Oikawa, his eyes narrowed. 

“What's that supposed to mean?” 

The words poured out of Oikawa’s mouth and gushed past his lips before he could stop them. 

“If you had just come with us in the first place, you wouldn't have been put in danger alone-”

Iwaizumi’s hand clenched around Oikawa’s sleeve, sweat soaking into the hems. He didn't need this. He didn't fucking need this right now. 

“- walking through an unfamiliar area and you would've been safe and I would've known you were safe too-” 

_ Enough _ ! 

“I didn't fucking know I'd almost get mugged!” Iwaizumi snapped back, his voice rising. 

Oikawa should've dropped it. His mouth ran on. 

“You could've gotten lost! It was stupid to-”

“It's stupid to obsess over things that might've happened! It happened, and I'm fine, so shut up about it!” 

“Oh, and that's not hypocritical at all! You, who won't get over something that happened six years ago, and you're asking me to forget about something that happened almost ten minutes ago!”

Iwaizumi stumbled into silence, and then his voice was quiet. 

“I didn't die.”

“You could've! What if you hadn't heard -”

“Oikawa-”

“-the bottle? What if they had glanced down and seen it? You could've been stabbed! I could be holding your corpse right now, so-”

Iwaizumi’s mouth was looking more and more like the thin trail of blood that follows a deep cut, stretched lips reddened, bitten, abused. 

And yet Oikawa still babbled on. 

“-you're way too important to me to do stuff like this, please-”

“Back off.”

Oikawa blinked, and Iwaizumi snapped. 

“It's not always about what's important to YOU!” Iwaizumi shouted, and Oikawa shrunk. “For once,  _ BACK OFF _ !” 

Aware that he was still clinging onto Oikawa's arm, he let go. He shut his eyes, attempting to calm his anger. 

“Sometimes you can be really tiresome,” he said quietly. 

Oikawa's expression shuttered shut, rotating mechanically away from Iwaizumi. He gazed out the window, his breath soundless as he stared blankly out at the whitewashed buildings. 

Iwaizumi shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself and trying to ignore the metal cage around him. 

Matsukawa wisely stayed silent, and the rest of the drive was frittered away in thick nothingness.

\----

Iwaizumi held on as long as he could, he really did. 

“Stop.” 

His voice cracked, and it was so weak that neither Matsukawa nor Oikawa heard him. Maybe Oikawa just didn't react. He didn't know. 

All he knew was that he had to get out. 

“Stop!” 

His open palm hit the back of Matsukawa's seat, juddering it forwards suddenly. 

“Fuck, Iwaizumi, I'm pulling over, alrighty?” 

Matsukawa swerved into the sidewalk, and Iwaizumi jerked open the handle and stumbled shakily onto the pathway. His stomach curled up within him, a disturbing distrust boiling deep in his flesh, and before he knew it he was bent over, hurling bitter liquid from his mouth. 

He heard the car door open behind him, and he swallowed, trying to contain the sickly bile rising up into his throat. Again, a vile, clumpy substance poured from his lips, and he spluttered, attempting to clear all of it from his mouth. Squeezing his eyes shut, he felt a hand on his back, rubbing soft circles into his skin.

He took a few gulping breaths, waiting to see if his stomach wanted to rid itself of any more food before straightening up. 

Matsukawa's voice wafted over from behind him. 

“We only have a few more minutes to go. Hang on in there, buddy. My driving isn't that bad, is it?” 

Iwaizumi wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, grimacing. “I think I'd better wa-”

“No, you're not.” Oikawa spoke surely, his hand remaining on Iwaizumi's back, smouldering through his shirt and imprinting on his hot skin. 

“I'm not going to fucking get mugged twice in one night,” Iwaizumi muttered back, refraining from barking at him. 

“I don't care. You're coming with us.” 

Iwaizumi's jaw clenched. “I can take care of myself,  _ Oikawa _ .” 

In response, Oikawa pushed him towards the car. 

“Then you can handle this too. It's just a car. Or is this just me being  _ tiresome _ again?” 

His tone was sharp and mocking, and Iwaizumi’s damp fingers clung onto the material at the sides of his thighs. He could manage a few more minutes, right? 

Matsukawa regarded the standoff for a few seconds before contributing. 

“It would be safer for you to come with us,” he admitted, casting a glance around at the less-than-pleasant surroundings. It seemed quiet, but who knew? 

Oikawa's hand dropped from Iwaizumi's back and he walked back to the car, folding his lithe frame inside neatly. Matsukawa followed, and, after a moment, so did Iwaizumi. 

\---

Iwaizumi only noticed he was shaking when he tried to get out of the car. 

His fingers wouldn't grip the smooth plastic edges of the handle, and Iwaizumi would've sworn aloud if Oikawa wasn't there. 

Nonetheless, he felt Oikawa's gaze float over to him, and he gritted his teeth, seizing his wrist with his other hand. It didn't help, only doubling the violent trembling. 

Silently, Oikawa leaned over him and popped open the door easily, refusing to meet Iwaizumi's eyes. His body was warm, searing against for his side for a moment before he withdrew, gaze flicking to anywhere but Iwaizumi's face. 

For some reason, Iwaizumi wanted to kiss him, badly. So, so badly. 

He ducked his face and stepped out of the car instead. He doubted that Oikawa would appreciate any vomit-tasting lips on his - even without the vomit part, Iwaizumi didn't think he'd want to kiss him anyway. 

Matsukawa, already at the boot, handed Iwaizumi his main bag, scanning his ashen grey face. 

“You okay? I can take the bag for you, if you want. You look like you're about to keel over at any moment.” 

“I'll survive,” Iwaizumi mumbled, clasping the bag to his chest. 

Oikawa appeared beside him, jerkily piling some boxes up into his arms and swiftly marching up to Matsukawa's doorstep without a word. Iwaizumi felt the sharp sting of regret for a moment, then the queasiness coiling in his stomach yanked him back to the present. 

Fuck.   
  
A hand dropping to his stomach, Iwaizumi grimaced, suspecting the sick feeling in his stomach had more to do with the argument in the car rather than the car itself. It ebbed a little as they emptied out the car, stacking their belongings (hopefully temporarily) in Matsukawa's tiny guest room. It was more like a thin corridor, with its single bed and a slender space, just enough to walk through, beside it, leading to the malnourished wardrobe.

“Sorry it isn't a palace.”

“It'll be fine. Thanks for letting us stay here.” 

“Eh…” Hanamaki began awkwardly, holding up one blanket limply. “We kind of only prepared one bed-” 

“It's fine,” Iwaizumi cut in quickly. “I'll sleep on the couch.” 

He moved to grab the blanket out of his hands, but before he could Oikawa roughly shouldered past him, snatching the blanket for himself. 

“I'll sleep on the couch,” he announced pointedly. 

He stormed on past Hanamaki without turning around, and Iwaizumi made a noise of disbelief, watching him disappear into the hallway.

“He's so damn petty,” he muttered, moodily kicking the leg of the bed. 

Hanamaki sighed deeply. “It's only because he cares so much about you that he's mad, y’know? If you didn't matter to him he wouldn't give a shit about any of this. I mean, look at me and Issei. We barely cared that you almost got stabbed.” 

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi said wryly. “That makes me feel loads better.” 

Hanamaki gave him an apologetic look. “Look, to me, you're right. You can walk wherever you want and if you get mugged it's your problem. But Oikawa's different, yeah? I'm pretty sure he's in love with you, so he's beyond terrified of losing you.” 

Iwaizumi stilled, exhaling a great, bulbous breath of air. “When he was drunk once, he told me that he loves me. Well, not exactly, but that was the gist of it. I wasn't sure if…” his voice trailed off, and his fists clenched around denim in frustration. “It doesn't matter. He's making a big deal out of nothing.” 

“Aren't you mad at him for making you get into the car?” 

Iwaizumi squeezed his eyes shut. “I don't want to talk about that.” 

Hanamaki cocked an eyebrow, moving to open the wardrobe and reaching upwards. “Sure, whatever. But sort it out, ‘kay? Being in a house with a rowing couple is not fun.” 

“Oh, sorry if it's inconvenient for you two,” came Iwaizumi's bitter answer, then he sighed, hanging his head. “No. I'm sorry. Thanks for letting us stay here at all. We'll try to talk it out.” 

He paused as Hanamaki pulled down some more blankets, bundling them to his chest. 

“Later.”

“Later? Wouldn't have pegged you for a procrastinator,” Hanamaki answered dryly, then dumped the pile of blankets into Iwaizumi’s arms. “Put these on the couch, would ya? I'm starving.” 

“Sure.” 

\---

Iwaizumi was tidying away some of his clothes when Oikawa jerked open the door, the sudden noise making Iwaizumi spin towards the doorway.   
  
"Dinner," Oikawa announced starkly, not even making eye contact before stalking back out.   
  
The door fell shut behind him.   
  
"I don't think I'm..."   
  
Iwaizumi's voice petered out dismally, and he closed his eyes briefly, sighing loudly, knowing Oikawa wasn't listening anyway. He still felt too on edge to eat, and so he sidled out of the room almost guiltily, heading to the kitchen.

“Nothing for me, thanks,” Iwaizumi told Hanamaki and Matsukawa, loitering by the doorway and avoiding looking at the other side of the table. 

Matsukawa gave him a look, and Oikawa's relaxed posture grew even more forced, shoulders deliberately lowering mechanically. Hanamaki heaved a sigh, eyes flicking to Oikawa's bowed head, evidently thinking that he was just being awkward. 

“Aren't you hungry? You've walked for hours.” 

Iwaizumi shrugged. “Just no appetite, I guess. I'll get something later.” 

Matsukawa leaned forward. “We can bring you out something, if you prefer. Or take it yourself, and eat somewhere else. I put effort into that food, and you're at least having some.” 

Iwaizumi's hand gripped the doorframe as he shook his head. “I feel too sick after that car, sorry. I'll have some tomorrow, I swear.” 

Matsukawa heaved a sigh, stretching back with an exasperated hand running through his straggly curls. “I guess we can't force it down your throat if you're just going to vomit it up again ungratefully.”

“Have some later, or we will shove it down your throat,” Hanamaki added casually, picking through his dish. 

Oikawa stood abruptly, his meal half-finished, and walked out into the living room. Matsukawa and Hanamaki exchanged gazes, with an eyebrow raise and eye rolling. 

“I'll eat later,” was Iwaizumi’s final declaration as he turned tail and left. 

The remaining two looked at each other. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Hanamaki groaned out, dropping his head into his hands. (and almost his dinner) 

Matsukawa patted his back in empathy. “They'll figure it out. We can always kick them out.”

“We can't. We owe Oiks too many favours.”

“You mean he has far too much blackmail material?” 

“Yes! Who keeps videos of their friends when they were fifteen year old idiots,” Hanamaki groaned out. 

Matsukawa added, thoughtful, “Well, I could survive it. I wasn't the one who decided to try and drink an entire two litre bottle of Cidona within thirty seconds and threw up immediately afterwards. You didn't even drink the entire thing.” 

“Oikawa offered me three thousand yen. It's his fault.” 

“Oikawa is a demon. A demon who works behind the scenes and never takes responsibility. You should know that by now, dimwit.” 

“I know that by now, but not back then, which is the point, so who's the idiot now?” 

“Still you,” Matsukawa drawled out, flicking a pea over to him. 

“Thanks.” 

\---

Iwaizumi was all settled in, everything put away meticulously, and he hated it. He still felt too unsettled to eat, he didn't want to come out of the room and face Oikawa's cold demeanour, and he was bored. He wasn't used to having nothing to do at the same time Oikawa was mad at him. 

The combination was driving him insane, if he was being honest. 

He even considered texting Kuroo. 

**hedgehog-chan :** Oikawa's mad at me.

**Kuroo:** ha I'm getting laid tonight and you're not

He decided not to continue the conversation. 

Eventually, after moodily kicking around a scrunched-up ball of paper for a bit, he wandered out into the kitchen. Thankfully, only Matsukawa was there, idly spray-painting the back of his phone. 

“Isn't that...a bit..”

“What? I wanted a new colour.” 

“I mean...isn't that what cases are for?”

“It's always the same colour underneath, idiot.”

“Isn't it the same colour underneath the spray paint?” 

Matsukawa blinked. He straightened, and lobbed the spray can right at Iwaizumi, who had to dodge the metal can, clattering into a cupboard behind him. 

“There,” Matsukawa said flatly. “You've ruined it, and I did all that work for nothing.” 

He gestured vaguely down at the table, where a half-sprayed, desolate phone sat in the middle of a plastic sheet. 

“I didn't ruin it,” Iwaizumi defended himself, moving to open a window. “I'm pretty sure it was pointless from the beginning.” 

Matsukawa rolled his eyes, slouching into a bar stool (of course they chose those to have in their kitchen) and spinning around with a lazy kick-off. 

“Are you talking about the phone or your relationship with Oiks? Because I really can't tell.” 

“You're a dick,” Iwaizumi told him, waving away some restless fumes. 

Matsukawa gave him a grin, wary and lopsided. “Well, did you expect any less from Oikawa's oldest friends? Who d’you think taught him everything he knows? You have us to thank, I'll have you know.” 

“Explains why he's being a petty bitch right now,” Iwaizumi groaned, dropping into the still next to him. 

Matsukawa spun around faster. 

“I dunno. You said some pretty harsh stuff to him when you were yelling at each other.” 

“He knows I didn't mean it, doesn't he? I mean.. I don't actually find him tiresome…” 

Matsukawa shrugged. “Sure sounded like you meant it. Just saying, I doubt he's going to come crawling back to you if he thinks he's in the right.” 

“He's not in the right. He needs to get off his goddamn high horse and realise that I'm trying, I really am, and he doesn't need to help me out with money, I can manage myself…”

Whirling around angrily, Iwaizumi continued muttering underneath his breath, hardly noticing that Matsukawa was there. 

“Neither one of you is in the right,” Matsukawa interrupted, massaging the heels of his palms against his shut eyelids. “So shut up about it already. I have a bitching tolerance and you're reaching it quicker than Oiks usually does. And trust me, that's an impressive achievement. Do you know how high that bar has to be to tolerate Oiks’ bullshit?! Literally, shut the fuck up.” 

Iwaizumi blinked, his mouth downturning into a hard line. “I'm not bitching, I'm just-”

“Go talk to him.” 

Iwaizumi's teeth ground together. 

“Not until he comes to me. There's...other stuff, too. We fought this morning, and just kind of had it on halt when you arrived.” 

“So even more to sort out, more reason for you two to stop being so hard-headed and communicate,” Matsukawa told him, placing his hands on his hips. “Cop on, now. This isn’t impossible to solve. You’re just unwilling to talk to each other.”

Iwaizumi stood up abruptly. “I’m going to go for a run. I’ll be back later.”

As he headed out of the room, Matsukawa called lazily after him, “When you’re done with your tantrum, let me know and I’ll heat you up some milk.”

“Fuck off,” Iwaizumi bellowed back, and Matsukawa rolled his eyes. 

\---

A few hours later, Matsukawa was still dawdling in the kitchen, alone. Iwaizumi had retreated into the borrowed room and somehow Oikawa had glued onto Makki - he supposed he could join them, but he thought he’d had more than enough bitching for one day. Suddenly, the door sprung open, and Hanamaki staggered through, a hand clasped to his forehead. 

"Oh, Issei, thank fuck. I thought I'd died and was serving my eternal punishment for accidentally sending a dick pic to your aunt that one time. Honestly, have you heard Oiks? Like, if you thought you heard complaining before, you haven't seen the half of it. Not even a quarter. Less than an eighth."   
  
Hanamaki collapsed over the kitchen table, groaning into the grainy wood. Matsukawa patted his back in sympathy.   
  
"I'm suffering too. You'd think that Iwaizumi wouldn't really be the bitching type, yeah?"   
  
"Yeah."   
  
"Nope. Fucking almost worse than Oiks. He's just as stubborn and moody."   
  
"Both of them need to grow the fuck up," came Hanamaki's mutter. "And have make up sex."   
  
"Speaking of which.."   
  
"Ye?"   
  
"Wanna hide in our room, lock the door and make sex noises whenever either of them come close so they won't bother us?"   
  
Hanamaki's head shot up so fast Matsukawa swore he heard his neck crack.   
  
"Fuck yes. You're a goddamn genius, you know that?"   
  
"Well, I admit that making sex noises is one of my favourite hobbies," Matsukawa conceded. "I simply want to include my talents in everyday life. I am no hero."   
  
“You really are though, if I had to hear one more sentence about how abrasive and stubborn Iwaizumi is I'd cease living. Come on.” 

Hanamaki grabbed Matsukawa’s arm and physically dragged him out of the chair and towards their bedroom. On the way, Matsukawa made sure to call out, “We're about to fuck, so please, feel free to come in and join us,” just to make certain neither of them would dare even try the doorhandle. 

“You're disgusting,” was Oikawa's flat response, and Iwaizumi didn't even bother to answer, silently shaking his head in the bedroom. 

“Hey…” Matsukawa added when they'd disappeared into the safety of the bedroom. “You know how you called me a genius earlier?” 

“Yeah?” Hanamaki asked as he plopped onto the bed, splayed out on his back. “What about it?” 

“You're right.” 

Hanamaki squinted at Matsukawa, suspicion rimming his expression. “You sound like you have an idea. I'm in.” 

“This is why I love you. Damn right I do. If those two can't sort their shit out themselves, we're going to have to give them a little nudge.” 

“And by a little nudge, I assume you mean a massive, forceful shove?”

“Obviously.”

\---

When Iwaizumi woke, it wasn't while feeling refreshed, or restful. 

Cold sweat was seeping down every inch of his body, and he kicked off the tangled sheets before he was even properly awake, breathing hard. Apparently his subconscious wasn't coping well with the car thing as well as Oikawa barely talking to him, and his nightmares had been… unnerving, to say the least. 

Lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, Iwaizumi reached up a hand, noted its trembling, and attempted to steady it. He wish he had woken up during the night. It would've stopped the agonising images from piercing into his mind, like a scream one can't turn off. 

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi breathed out, slowly pushing himself up off the mattress to sit at the side of his bed. 

He allowed himself to brace his head in his hands for a couple of seconds. 

Alright. That’s enough. 

With a muted sigh, he stood up, already thinking of distractions. Food first, definitely. Heading out to the hallway, a piece of white paper grasped his attention, stark against the brown tones of the front door.

Striding over, Iwaizumi ripped the sheet off the door. 

_ Sort your shit out, fucking eejits. _

_ We’ll let you two out when you've kissed and made up. There's condoms and lube in the bedside drawer. No sex on the table or couch, though. We’ll know.  _

_ Have fun.  _

_ Regards,  _

_ The couple you thought was bad.  _

It took a second for the meaning of the note to sink in. 

“Fuck.” 

Iwaizumi tried the door handle. It didn't budge. 

“Fuck, fuck!” 

He slammed his palm flat against the door, emitting a loud noise that must've roused Oikawa. Matsukawa and Hanamaki were likely already long gone - Iwaizumi knew he'd have legged it the moment he taped the paper to the door. Praying they overlooked something, Iwaizumi crouched down and began tearing through the drawers, looking for a key they'd forgotten about, perhaps a lockpick, maybe an axe, that'd be really handy right about now. 

He wasn't staying in a house with Oikawa. 

A thought occurred to him, and he sat back on his heels. 

It wasn't as if they had to talk to each other. There were more rooms than one, they could just avoid each other- or even if he could stand the tension, sit down in the same room and safely ignore each other. 

“What-” 

Iwaizumi jolted at the sudden sound from the kitchen, spinning around in the hallway. 

“What the  _ fuck _ ?”

Iwaizumi, curious but not wanting to even see Oikawa, padded slowly to the doorway. Oikawa was standing by the open fridge, his stupidly cute spaceship-spotted pyjamas skewed on his hips, his hair bunched up into an even larger mess than usual. Iwaizumi wondered briefly, concern touching him, if he'd spent the night tossing and turning like he had, then clenched his jaw. Good. 

His attention was drawn to Oikawa's lips, bitten to a deep red, seemingly silently forming the words clutched in his hand. 

“I am,” Oikawa began, voice even, and deadly sharp. He didn't appear to notice Iwaizumi in the doorway - if he did, he definitely wasn't acknowledging him, much less talking to him. “I am going to pluck out every single one of Mattsun’s nostril hairs with tweezers, then Makki’s armpit hair.” 

Iwaizumi couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. He strode forwards, nabbing the note from Oikawa's fingers. 

_ Oh, and no food either until you two make up.  _

_ :)  _

Iwaizumi glanced up to an empty fridge. 

“What the fuck.” 

His own reaction mirrored Oikawa's, who sighed and turned around, hands threading back through his dishevelled locks. 

“When you're done with them,” Iwaizumi muttered. “Let me know, and I'll finish the job.” 

Oikawa ignored him and walked into the sitting room. Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. Off to a brilliant start.

He hadn't felt hungry before this, but his stomach gave him a rude, abrupt reminder that he didn't have any breakfast, and had felt so sick that he'd skipped dinner yesterday. 

Fuck. 

When last had Oikawa eaten? 

He had dinner yesterday, right? So he was a bit better off than Iwaizumi's poor stomach. Groaning, Iwaizumi had to admit that Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s diabolical plan might actually be effective. When he was working, distracted, hunger didn't bother him, but now… 

Iwaizumi groaned louder. He had to either find a distraction or talk to Oikawa. His eyes flicked sideways, to the doorway of the sitting room, where Oikawa sulked, his form crumpled up on the couch. Iwaizumi couldn't see his face, but he didn't appear receptive to any conversation. 

Iwaizumi's sigh echoed through the kitchen. Distraction it was. 

\--

_ Don't bother looking for your phones. :) _

Every note from the hell duo grated more and more on Iwaizumi's nerves. The latest had his last plan in upset. He couldn't even ask Kuroo for help. That's how desperate he was - he actually wanted to contact him. For advice. Since when did that happen? 

Probably since Oikawa stopped talking to him. 

The note crinkled up viciously in Iwaizumi's fingers. Should he apologise? Matsukawa had a point - he had said some pretty harsh stuff to Oikawa in the heat of the moment. But he hadn't - surely Tooru knew that he was well aware of Oikawa's selflessness, he didn't think he was tiresome...did he? No, that was ridiculous. He was only still on edge after that guy, and Tooru had only picked a bad moment to try and talk to him about his touchiest subject. 

Damn it. 

\---

When was the last time Hajime had eaten? 

The thought bounced around Oikawa's mind, annoyingly persistent and loud as he rustled through his belongings. He'd always stashed stuff out of habit, and he'd found a forgotten morsel yesterday, threw it in here… damn, where was it? 

Oikawa was hungry enough, but Iwaizumi must be suffering a lot more than him. Not as if he cared or anything. He was mad at him. Maybe he should suffer a bit. Penance for his wrongdoings and all that shit. Karma. That sort of stuff. 

Oikawa sighed, pulling out the spare milk bread packet out of his bag. He gazed at it for a moment, feeling his mouth watering at the very sight of it, then sighed deeper, straightening up. 

Damn Hajime. 

He left it on the kitchen table. 

\---

Iwaizumi stared at the milk bread, plonked innocently on the kitchen table. That wasn't there before. 

His stomach began clawing hard at the inside of his skin, begging. He stared some more. He wanted it. Iwaizumi groaned aloud, massaging the heels of his palms into his eyes. He hated the sweetness of milk bread. What was wrong with him? A couple of bored hours without food and work and his morals were already crumbling down. 

Maybe Matsukawa's and Hanamaki’s plan was a bit smarter than he'd thought at first. 

It probably wasn't even for him. Oikawa might've accidentally left it down and then gotten distracted-

By what? There's nothing here except the television and it's not even on. 

-and forgotten about it. Or was it there before? Perhaps he'd just missed it and either Hanamaki or Matsukawa had a secret craving for milk bread. Oikawa was mad at him, he wouldn't have deliberately left it for him. 

Iwaizumi checked the clock. Sixteen hours since he'd last eaten. That wasn't so bad. He'd gone longer before. 

“Oh my god, just eat it.”

Iwaizumi almost jumped, spinning to face the doorway, where Oikawa slouched against the frame, looking highly unimpressed. Under Iwaizumi's disbelieving gaze, he crossed his arms across his chest, head tilting towards the item on the table. 

“It's pathetic, watching you stare at it like that. Eat it.” 

Before Iwaizumi could reply, he stalked off, throwing up a middle finger back over his shoulder. Just to let him know he was still pissed at him. Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi took the packet and ripped it open. It was gone in two bites. 

It wasn't much, but it helped. 

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi muttered to empty air. 

He crumpled up the plastic in his hands, deciding. 

Maybe it was time to try to talk to Tooru. 

\---

He found Oikawa in the bathroom, plucking his eyebrows out of sheer boredom. Their gazes intertwined in the mirror, and Oikawa's eyes narrowed for a brief instant. 

“Just because I left you that one shitty milk bread doesn't mean I want to talk to you,” Oikawa said shortly, dropping the tweezers into the sink. 

“We need to,” Iwaizumi countered, and Oikawa scrunched up his nose, angling his head backwards ever so subtly. 

“I’d rather not.” 

Iwaizumi folded his arms over his chest, pressing his shoulder to the doorway as Oikawa turned around, leaning back against the sink. 

“Listen,” Iwaizumi started, gnawing on his lower lip. “I'm sorry for what I said yesterday. I didn't mean to call you that.” 

Oikawa's release of breath was heavy, unnaturally loud. 

“If you're expecting me to apologise back, I'm afraid you're out of luck,” Oikawa told him coolly. “You need to be more careful and stop fucking overworking yourself. Or am I just nagging you? Being tiresome again?” 

Iwaizumi heaved out a sigh before he could stop himself, and Oikawa's expression hardened. 

“I'm taking that as a yes.” 

He brushed past Iwaizumi, who grabbed his arm. “Tooru, you know I don't -”

“Leave me alone,” Oikawa said flatly, shaking Iwaizumi's hand off forcefully. 

Perhaps he shouldn't have, but Iwaizumi let him go. 

\---

Oikawa was beginning to wish stubbornness didn't run in both their families. He hated this, but no way in hell was he going to back down. Especially since he was right. Hajime wasn't going to overwork himself on his watch, no damn way. And he needed to stop being so laid back about walking through sketchy places! Sure, he despised being in cars and most mechanical vehicles, but it had been six years already, christ. 

“He needs to get over it,” Oikawa muttered to himself, folding his arms over his chest, slouched on the couch as he watched some shitty rom-com. 

He heard the door opening behind him, and rolled his eyes. It had only been a few minutes since he'd blown him off in the bathroom - surely he wasn't going to try again so soon, the dolt. 

“Tooru.”

Apparently so. 

Oikawa stared stonily ahead as Iwaizumi awkwardly loitered by the side of the couch, finally sitting down stiffly. 

“Oikawa. We need to sort this out, and it's not going to happen if you don't talk to me.” 

Oikawa turned his body away. Iwaizumi sighed deeply, threading a hand back through his hair. 

“Listen, you said you'd try your best to make this work, didn't you? So please-” 

“If it's mutual, which it clearly isn't,” Oikawa snapped back, unable to stop himself from breaking his silence. 

He still didn't look at Iwaizumi, but he could sense his shock. 

“What? I got in that damn car for you, Tooru! For your peace of mind, I don't give a shit about myself I would've been okay-”

“That's the problem!” Oikawa’s voice grew strained, and he rotated around to face Iwaizumi, cheeks flushing. “You don't care about yourself, and you won't let me care about you-”

“What are you talking about? I let you do so much for me!”

“I'm trying to stop you from overworking yourself and stop you taking stupid risks, but you still insist on taking on more than you can handle with another fucking job and telling me I should quit mine, you hypocritical asshole!” 

Iwaizumi sucked in a sharp breath, his eyebrows cleaving a little line in the middle of his lower forehead. 

Good, Oikawa thought as he observed Hajime falter. He's finally thinking. 

“But if I don't do that, your knee-”

“To hell with my knee,” Oikawa dismissed instantly. 

“No. No, you don't get to tell me that I'm being hypocritical when you're destroying yourself for a problem you have no connection to-”

“Are you really this fucking blind, Hajime?!” Oikawa's shrill tone echoed as he outstretched a hand, yanking at the front of Iwaizumi's shirt. “I'm helping you, and that's that! Don't try to argue with me over this!” 

“Well, if you want to help me you're going about it the wrong fucking way,” Iwaizumi snapped back, his fingers latching around Oikawa's wrist. “Great job on helping, alcoholic.” 

Oikawa had heard the expression “his jaw dropped,” plenty of times before, but had never experienced it in his lifetime. His jaw slackening and the utter, paralysing shock - dread? Realisation? - rocketing through his body wasn't close to anything he'd ever felt before. 

His grip on Iwaizumi loosened. “I'm not… Hajime, don't - don't say that -”

“Well, if you're not one you're pretty damn near to becoming one, so stop drinking! I'll pay for therapy, rehab, whatever you need, just ditch those terrible coping habits.” 

Oikawa regained control over his jaw and clamped it shut. Staring resolutely at him, the hard line of Iwaizumi's mouth softened a little, and he spoke quietly. 

“You know I'm right, Tooru. You can't avoid dealing with your feelings forever.” 

Swallowing thickly, and the movement hurting, like he was scraping past a rock in his throat, Oikawa glanced away. 

The silence that followed was painful. 

“Okay. Okay, you know what? Let's make a deal.” 

“What is it?”

“I'll stop drinking if you go to therapy and talk about the accident.” 

Taken aback, Iwaizumi began to shake his head. “That isn't-”

“And before you try to say that you don't need help for that, remember how you can't ride in a car without throwing up and shaking violently,” Oikawa interrupted pointedly. “And..” here he lifted up a hand, examining Iwaizumi’s face with an intense concentration, “you've had a nightmare again, haven't you?” 

Iwaizumi chewed on his lip, unable to contradict him. “I...don't like the sound of that. What about the team?” 

“I can't quit yet, but I promise I'll go easier on myself. Yaku will back me up on that. Do we have a deal?” 

Iwaizumi’s green eyes regarded him, deep and serious like a country well, for a few moments. “When will you quit?” 

“When we no longer need the money,” Oikawa replied, his voice as even and steady as his gaze. “When I've got enough saved to make it possible to keep up with the bills with both of us working.” 

“I hate the idea of you pushing yourself for my sake,” Iwaizumi told him quietly. “You don't have to-”

“Hajime! Stop with the tough talk!” Oikawa blew out a breath, frustrated. “You're not in your old neighbourhood anymore - it's okay to ask for help, and I'm giving it to you anyways, it's not as if you have a choice. End of story. Did I make that clear enough?” 

Iwaizumi’s jaw clenched, then relaxed as Oikawa's fingers floated across the back of his hand, cool and reassuring. “Fine. I'll think about it. We mightn’t even have money for therapy-”

“With how much I’m making, we will,” Oikawa promised him, entangling their fingers together. “You’re not worming your way out of this, as much as I admire your determination to avoid your problems.”

He smiled at him, and Iwaizumi’s heart lightened. 

“Tooru…” Iwaizumi hesitated. “I think I owe you a thank you. So thank you, for everything you've done for me.” 

In response, Oikawa reached for him, arms curled around him, and held him close. 

\--

"I'll try to stop drinking so much, even if you don’t go to therapy.” 

It was a few hours later, and the anti-hunger distractions hadn't stopped since - cuddling, movies, dancing madly in the kitchen - enjoyable despite the slight underlying tension. Oikawa's voice took Iwaizumi, unloading the dishwasher, off-guard, and he fumbled with the bowl, almost tottering from his grasp. Oikawa's laughter met his ears, and he scowled, ears red as he deposited it into the sink. "Shut up." 

"I didn't say anything about your clumsiness. Don't worry Hajime, it's endearing, really," Oikawa answered cheekily, and the way his eyes creased up reminded Iwaizumi of how hard he'd laughed when they were spinning around earlier and Iwaizumi bashed his hip against the table corner and had let out a cry he hadn't thought his vocal chords could make. The creases grew shallower as he watched, and Iwaizumi drifted back to the present and out of the distractions. Oh. 

"Alright," was what came out. 

Oikawa blinked. "Alright? That's all you have to say to that?" 

Iwaizumi shrugged. "You can do it. It won't be easy, but you can. I didn't think I had to say more." 

Oikawa stared at him, and Iwaizumi's skin prickled, worried he'd said something wrong. Then Oikawa threw his head back and laughed, and Iwaizumi cracked a smile. 

"God..." Oikawa chuckled out. "I should've expected something like that. You always take everything in your stride so well," he finished, somewhat wistfully. 

"I wish that was the case," Iwaizumi sighed out, dumping himself in the seat beside Oikawa. His arm rose, and his fist thudded into Oikawa's shoulder, who squawked out a protest. "What was that for?"

"For encouragement."

"How is that encouragement?" Oikawa sulkily muttered back, rubbing his shoulder with the air of someone deeply wronged. "Maybe it's encouraging to one-celled organisms like yourself, but to ordinary humans, it hurts." 

"So now you pay attention when your body is telling you something? By the way, have you done your exercises today?"

Oikawa stuck out his bottom lip, face turning away. "Maybe." 

"Come on," Iwaizumi sighed out, slipping down off of his seat. "You know that it's more important than ever that you do them now." 

"Ugh, ugh, fine," Oikawa whinged out, shoulders sloping in exasperation. "You'll help me though, won't you?" 

His eyes were bright, and Iwaizumi couldn't stand to disappoint him. 

"Yeah, yeah, sure," he sighed out, and Oikawa's grin stretched wide as he jumped off his seat and straight into Iwaizumi. 

"Yay! It's always so much more fun when you're helping me, Iwa-chan!"

"I swear, it's like you're actually five," Iwaizumi murmured into a faceful of Oikawa's hair. 

"Think about it this way - you'd make a great dad," Oikawa dropped casually. "Plenty of practice." 

"I really don't want to think about you as my child. Or children in general." 

Oikawa looked at him, and wriggled his eyebrows, speaking one word. "Daddy." 

"No." 

"You look like the Daddy type." 

"I am very, very close to punching you right now." 

"Ooh, how many kinks do you have, Iwa-chan? The list just keeps on growing!" 

"I will knock you out." 

"Now that's a bit excessive, don't you think?" 

"Please shut up." 

"Or what? You'll take out the chains and whips? Maybe a bit of spanking?" 

At this point, Iwaizumi withdrew his arms, stepping back, and Oikawa stumbled with the sudden lack of support, almost toppling to the floor. He saved himself by grabbing onto the kitchen table, directing his tragically hurt gaze upon an impassive Iwaizumi. 

"Iwa-chan! So mean!" 

"I warned you," was his only apology. "Now come on, we need to exercise your knee." 

Oikawa heaved a sigh, trailing after his broad back. "You're no fun." 

"I'm responsible. Not that you'd know that word." 

"Boring!" Oikawa accused. "Boring and mean! Why am I with you in the first place?" 

Iwaizumi stopped in his tracks, spinning around to face him, and Oikawa, distracted by his dramatic lamentations, bashed right into him. "Ow! Why'd you-" 

Kissing him. Iwaizumi was kissing him, deep, meaningful and passionate. Oikawa's quick inhale of surprise was rapidly replaced with breathlessness, feeling Iwaizumi's hands cup his face perfectly, feeling his body vibrate with joyous energy. 

It was over too soon. 

"Oh," Oikawa breathed out, dazed, once they broke apart, light-headed. "That's why." 

Iwaizumi gave a light exhale through his nose to show his amusement, then he grabbed Oikawa's hand, leading him into the sitting room. "Enough delaying. Come on." 

"Yessir," Oikawa obliged him, allowing himself to be coaxed into the room contentedly.

\----

Oikawa had always suspected that Iwaizumi wasn't the type to say "I love you," aloud, as straightforward and impulsive as he was. He got tangled up in his emotions and acted recklessly, but, unlike Oikawa, he wasn't that prone to rash, hurtful words. He thought about his sentences, if not his movements. Perhaps he'd realised long ago which was more damaging. 

He should just allow him to show his affection his own way. 

However, Oikawa thought as he watched Iwaizumi's calloused hands massage ointment gently into his lightly throbbing knee. I've always been demanding. 

"Hajime?" 

Iwaizumi glanced up. "What is it?"

The question slipped from Oikawa's lips almost too easily, as natural and effortless as when he was teasing Iwaizumi. 

"Do you love me?" 

Iwaizumi's gaze fell, and he strapped on Oikawa's heat pack without uttering a word. Then he pressed his full, tender lips to Oikawa's skin, as close to his knee as he could get, and Oikawa already knew his answer. 

His reply was quiet. "Yeah." 

"Will you say it?" 

Oikawa's breath had stopped in his throat. Iwaizumi twisted the cap on the gel closed, laying it down beside Oikawa's foot. 

"No." 

"Why not?" 

"I'd rather show it." 

"I'd rather if you said it, at least once," Oikawa confessed. "Because I love you, Hajime." 

Iwaizumi straightened up, drying his hands on a cloth. "I know. You told me before." 

"I did?" 

"The time when you were drunk, when you were asking me to tell you about myself. You said, 'isn't it natural to want to know about those you love?'" 

Oikawa puffed out his cheeks. "Damn it, I wanted it to be all dramatic and romantic! I can't believe it slipped out so casually like that. That's so unfair." 

Iwaizumi laughed lightly, ruffling Oikawa's hair. "I was surprised too, you know. I didn't even realise what you said until a few seconds later." 

Pouting, Oikawa slapped away Iwaizumi's hand from his head, crossing his arms over his chest and sinking back into the chair. "I hate myself. I was going to say it, and then you were supposed to go all quiet for a bit and then confess with like the biggest blush ever and then you'd kiss me and carry me to the bedroom and light candles before we fuck." 

"Make love," Iwaizumi corrected, sitting down on the side of the armchair. "I'd make love to you, like yesterday." 

"Oh, so now you're a romantic," Oikawa grumbled, and Iwaizumi chuckled lightly. "You don't have to be a romantic to make love to somebody." 

Oikawa fell quiet for a few seconds, feeling Iwaizumi's fingers fidget tenderly with his hair. Another of his soundless, comforting habits, another way of showing his affection. Iwaizumi was an action person, not concerning himself with words much unless necessary. Oikawa knew he should back off, but he still felt dissatisfied somehow. He just wanted three simple words from him. It wasn't that hard. 

"Tooru-"

"Hajime-"

Their blurted-out sentences both started and petered out at the same time. Iwaizumi sighed. "You first." 

"I want you to tell me you love me. Directly." 

"You're asking too much," Iwaizumi said lowly. "I promise I'll tell you, in my own time. In my own way." 

"I don't understand," Oikawa whinged, dangerously aware he sounded like spoiled child. "What's so difficult about saying it?" 

"It isn't difficult," Iwaizumi explained. "I just think that if you say things too often, the words aren't valuable any more. They don't mean anything. It's like reading a word over and over again until it has no purpose - it's just a jumble of lines." 

After a moment of thought, he added, "And I don't think my feelings towards you could be summed up in three words. I don't like the idea of that." 

As much as he hated to admit it, Iwaizumi's reasoning did have a logical point which appealed to Oikawa. He understood now, but he had a different take. 

"It's not the same," he mentioned, twisting to face him. "No matter how many times I say it, it'll never lose meaning. I'm in love with you, and, sadly, I don't think that's going to change." Oikawa pulled a face. "God, I could've done so much better. What happened?" 

Iwaizumi smacked him across the shoulder, but the edges of his lips were rising. "You can't just confess that you're in love with me and end it like that, shithead." 

"Well, it's better than not confessing at all," Oikawa retorted back snarkily, giving Iwaizumi a pointed look. "Unlike some people." 

"Being passive-aggressive and looking at me like that isn't going to make a difference, dumbass." 

"Insulting me isn't going to change anything either," Oikawa shot back saltily.

"I disagree. It makes me feel a whole of a hell lot better." 

"Oh, super," Oikawa drawled out. "Now I find out that you're a sadist too." 

Iwaizumi gave him a look. "I can't believe I'm in love with you, of all people." 

Oikawa stilled, feeling his face heat up. Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow at his expression, amusement crossing his features. "That good enough for you?" 

"Yeah," Oikawa squeaked out, throat dry and tight. "Yeah, that'll do." 

"Good, because that's all you're getting. Now-" 

A loud smack echoed from the other side of the door, and Iwaizumi's gaze narrowed. "Aren't they supposed to be gone?”

"That's what the notes said, but I wouldn't trust them. They could've snuck back in,” Oikawa suggested, twisting around. 

Strings of a disagreement drifted over to them. 

"You owe me-"

"No, it doesn't count! It doesn't count!" 

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi slipped off the side of the armchair and disappeared into the kitchen. He reappeared dragging two eejits in after him, still arguing. 

"Oiks, tell him it doesn't count," Hanamaki demanded, flinging out an arm which slapped Matsukawa straight in the nose, who recoiled with a highly disgusted expression.

"What doesn't?" Oikawa questioned wearily. 

"That didn't count as a love confession, it was lame and underwhelming as hell, for fuck's sake!"

"Thanks," Iwaizumi said flatly. 

"The purpose of a confession isn't to be dramatic," Matsukawa shot back. "It's to let the other know how you feel. It counts." 

"What, exactly, does me and Tooru's business have to do with you two?" Iwaizumi asked, exasperated. 

"We had a bet." 

"How long it would take ye to admit to each other just how smitten ye are," Hanamaki elaborated. "So, y'know, if you could go and put it off for a while more, I'd be ever so grateful..." 

Oikawa sighed. "What's the prize this time?" 

Matsukawa didn't even hesitate. 

"Eight rimjobs. We decided to set the bar high." 

"And that catastrophic failure of a confession is not worth that," Hanamaki announced surely, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Iwaizumi exchanged a look with Oikawa. "I told you we should've stayed with Kuroo and Kenma, even if we'd have to sleep on the couch." 

Oikawa sighed heavily and draped a hand over his eyes. "I'm starting to think you were right, as much as I despise Bedhead." 

Iwaizumi snorted. "You're calling him bedhead as an insult? Yours is-"

"Alright, alright, I get it!" Oikawa cut him off quickly, then turned back to Matsukawa and Hanamaki. "I've decided that it counts, so fuck off." 

"It's the best he's ever getting from me, so he'd better be satisfied," Iwaizumi added, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Hm? But what about your wedding vows?" Hanamaki asked in a drawl, raising the space where his eyebrows should've been. 

"We're not getting married," Iwaizumi maintained with a deep sigh. "It's not even legal." 

"Yet," Matsukawa swooped in. "Think positive, Iwa-chan! One day you'll be stuck with Oiks for all eternity! Isn't that such a great picture!" 

"You could cool it with the sarcasm for a couple of seconds, you know," Oikawa suggested. "And don't call him Iwa-chan." 

"Why? Is it his bedroom nickname? Is he going to get a hard-on if I keep saying it? You call him Hajime now, anyways. That frees up Iwa-chan for us to use at our leisure." 

"Want to try that?" Iwaizumi rumbled out, and the look in his eyes made both of them throw up their palms in surrender, backing away a step. 

"Your boyfriend is scary," Hanamaki complained to Oikawa, clinging to Matsukawa's shoulder. "Why don't you ever think of us when picking people to date?

"Your boyfriend's an idiot," Oikawa shot back smoothly, to which Hanamaki shrugged. "True." 

Matsukawa leered across at him. "I'd have to be an idiot to date someone like you." 

"You're so hot when you're being a bitch." 

"You're sexy when you're insulting me." 

"Get out," Oikawa announced, outstretching a hand and pointing at the door. 

"This is our house,” Matsukawa protested.

"Your point?” Oikawa asked dryly. 

"Our living room. We can be as gross as we want,” Hanamaki announced, and he coupled the statement with a vigorous squeeze of Matsukawa’s butt.   

"Get out,” Oikawa repeated, only this time with more repulsion in his voice. 

They didn't move, only shifted even nearer defiantly, hands wandering all over each other. Oikawa almost felt a bit of bile slip up into his mouth watching them. 

“Hajime, go.” 

Iwaizumi moved forward, and both of them squawked, exaggeratedly scrambling over each other to put more space between them and Iwaizumi. 

"Iwa-chan! You wouldn't throw two innocent homosexuals out of their own living room, would you?" Matsukawa fluttered his eyelashes, and Iwaizumi frowned. 

"I don't know what you two being homosexual has to do with it, but I told you not to call me that." 

He grabbed the back of their shirts, and Hanamaki pleaded with Oikawa, "We're going to get personal bodyguards too, if you don't call him off." 

“What am I, a dog?” Iwaizumi grumbled. 

“Out,” Oikawa ordered, and Iwaizumi continued dragging them out forcefully, chucking them out and slamming the door closed. He leaned his back against it, heaving out a sigh as he ran a hand back through his hair in exasperation. 

“Christ, I swear I've never met anyone like them. How did you survive high school?” 

“Don't ask,” Oikawa replied flatly. 

Iwaizumi flopped down onto the floor beside his chair, leaning against the side of it wearily. Oikawa's hand dropped down and began threading his fingers through Iwaizumi’s dark, unruly hair - well, as much as he could - in thoughtful silence. 

“You know how you said you made love to me?” 

“Yeah?”

“Is that possible? Like, when we hadn't confessed.” 

“I knew you loved me already, and I guess I wanted to show you that I felt the same,” Iwaizumi shrugged. 

Oikawa didn't speak for a few seconds. 

“Then that's the first time anyone's made love to me.” 

“What?”

“I was always only fucking,” Oikawa explained. “I liked that at the time, but...you were gentle, and I loved that.” 

Iwaizumi looked up at Oikawa, and Oikawa offered him a tiny smile. 

“Of course, you could always do better, Hajime. Kiss me more. And my neck. And make sure your moans are loud enough for me to hear, and that your humongous dick-” 

Stifled giggling came from the kitchen, and Oikawa cut himself off, eyes narrowing. “I swear to fuck, if they're eavesdropping yet again, I'll get you to kick them out of their own house.” 

“Gladly,” Iwaizumi said solemnly, getting to his feet. 

Hearing the frantic scrabbling from the other side of the door, Oikawa smiled widely to himself, shooting an affectionate glance to the back of Iwaizumi's head. He felt his chest inflate with something warm and big and significant.

His smile melded into a happy grin, with a residing contentment even the sharp ache in his knee couldn't overpower.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see 15-20k chapters are my fave too but I didn't want to end in the middle of a fight, so 21k it is.  
> i'm working on a fantasy iwaoi au and so my concentration may be split a little, but I'm hoping to wrap this up in 3 chapters (let's see how that turns out)  
> I'm sorry for the late as hell update though, I have a life.  
> lmao jk i'll have the next one out sooner because I love writing drama and oikawa suffering  
> as always, a big thank you to all those commenters who keep me and this fic going <3 and feel very free to leave any thoughts or feedback below, all of ye


	19. flatlining (UPDATED/EXTENDED)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> flatlining:  
> 1) the period of calm, the dot of peace in the chaos of a hurricane before disaster.  
> 2) absence of a heartbeat ; a clinical death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi im not dead  
> I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG  
> BUT IT'S HERE NOW AND THE FULL THING THIS TIME  
> THANKS MURTFY FOR STAYING UP ALL NIGHT ON A BORROWED LAPTOP TO BETA THIS YOU'RE THE MVP

“You’re going to training today?”

It was a few days later, the bruises almost completely faded into their skin, although the memories were as sharp and piercing as ever. 

“Yeah. Can’t really take any more time off, can I? They need me, Hajime! Poor Tobio-chan’s probably struggling without all my moral support and I just know Yaku-chan’s bitterly missing me,” Oikawa declared confidently, zipping closed his gearbag in one fluid movement.

He straightened, and Iwaizumi’s eyes automatically tracked his demeanour, searching for any reflexive flinches of pain. His gaze was only diverted for a second or so, and yet when he met Oikawa’s, Oikawa sighed, rolling his eyes.

“I’m fine. I wouldn’t go back if I couldn’t handle it, worrywart.”

He bent over to Iwaizumi, sitting on the edge of the bed, and drew a hand through his hair, giving him an assured smile. “Don’t look so stressed. Your blood pressure is high enough as it is.”

Iwaizumi half-smiled up at him, batting Oikawa’s hand away. Oikawa appreciated the effort, but his expression showed more of a grimace than a smile.

“I still don’t like it.”

“Oh, Hajime, you’re so moody at times,” Oikawa sighed, dropping down next to him on the bed, tilting his head onto his shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“You can say that all you want, but I’m still going to,” Iwaizumi responded, and a warm hand settled on Oikawa’s far arm.

Oikawa closed his eyes momentarily, then they snapped open, coupled with a wicked smile. His gaze sidled up Iwaizumi, smirking. Suspicion seeped into Iwaizumi’s narrowing eyes, and he waited apprehensively, knowing Oikawa wouldn’t be able to keep shut about any idea for long. As it happened, an idea about the idea struck Iwaizumi, and he spluttered out a word before Oikawa managed to open his trap.

“Wait-”

“I’m a genius,” came the declaration, full of smugness. “You’ll like it, because you’ll get to keep an eye on me, and I’ll like it, because I can finally show everyone that I do have a boyfriend. Yaku won’t back me up and everyone else thinks I’m making you up!”

“I’m not on the team, surely-”

“My influence will get you in, no worries! You have today off, don’t you? Use it wisely, and spend it whacking my balls - I mean, any balls I toss to you,” Oikawa finished proudly, tugging on his solid arm. “Come onnnnnn….. You do love volleyball, don’t you? Think of this as just extra practice.”

At Iwaizumi’s silence, Oikawa hopped to his feet, and continued apparently trying to render Iwaizumi’s arm from his body.

“Nobody’ll care that you’re there, Hajime. Think about it - you get to go toe-to-toe with the best spikers in Japan,” Oikawa urged, stooping down to give him a full view of his wide, appealing eyes. “It’ll be super fun too, and you get to see who I’ve been bitching about all this time.”

Iwaizumi shifted forwards to his feet, nodding. “Alright.”

“Seriously?” Oikawa asked, arching up his eyebrows. “That’s what convinced you? That you can see Tobio-chan and Ushijima?”

“I’m curious, alright? I’ve seen them on tv before, but that’s all.” Iwaizumi shrugged off the accusation easily enough, but his eyes glinted, a hint Oikawa didn't miss.

Oikawa found himself grinning at him for a moment as his grasp fell off of him, then he gathered himself again, shoving at Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “Then go get your stuff! I’m not letting us be late because of your indecisiveness.”

“I’m not indecisive,” Iwaizumi defended, pulling out a shorts and t-shirt quickly. “It’s called thinking things out, not that you’d know what that is.”

“Hey, we only met because you made an impulsive decision,” Oikawa pointed out righteously, slinging his gearbag over his shoulder. He hesitated. “We’ll take a bus. It’s too far to walk.”

Exhaling, Iwaizumi stuffed his clothes into a bag before straightening with an abrupt nod. “Okay.”

Oikawa regarded him for a second, and only saw stout determination. He didn’t know if he had a right to feel proud, but it was there anyway, a tiny flower of satisfied accomplishment. It was only Iwaizumi agreeing to go on a bus without a fight, but it was something big for him. Placing a large smile on his lips, Oikawa clasped Iwaizumi’s hand tightly, dragging him out of the room.

“Alrighty, let’s go!”

\-----

The coins clattered onto the floor by Iwaizumi’s feet, short of the bus driver’s outstretched hand.

“Ah, shit,” Iwaizumi mumbled, stooping to pick them up again. “Sorry.”

He glanced at the queue behind him guiltily, but Oikawa only smiled soothingly at him, a few feet back.

“Save me a seat, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa called out playfully, as if he wouldn't. For some reason, Iwa-chan sounded right, in public, with all these people here.

It didn't when Iwaizumi's lips were softly kissing his, or when his fingers were curling through Oikawa's hair, or even when he was attempting to battle back a grin at one of Oikawa's lame jokes.

“Be quicker next time and get your own seat,” Iwaizumi responded as he stepped into the aisle, deadpan.

The normality of the teasing helped distract him from his thundering heart a little, at least. And a few seconds later, as he dropped into a seat, he heard Oikawa's light voice chattering away to the bus driver. Closing his eyes, he breathed in slowly, fingernails etching into his skin through the denim of his jeans. See, he didn't need therapy. He could work through this on his own, by himself.

He felt Oikawa's frame slot down beside him, and Iwaizumi's hand slid into his. He tightened his clasp instinctively as the bus jerked into gear, having to force himself to loosen his grip. Oikawa squeezed his hand, breath warm against Iwaizumi's neck, and he found that relaxing wasn't so hard after all with Oikawa's airy voice suspended in his ear.

He glanced to the side, Oikawa’s lips moving with fuzzy words, a blur of clouded reassurance, the stream of chatter about nothing that required no answer. It was only there to distract, and both of them knew it. Iwaizumi found himself tracing down the delicate curve of Oikawa’s cheek, fascinated by his caramel skin, observing how deft and mellow his pale lips circled the words.

Oikawa paused, mid-sentence, and his soft eyes flicked up quizzically, frowning mildly.

“I know I’m breathtaking, but you have to contain yourself in public, Iwa-chan. Really, you can ease up a little on the gazing,” Oikawa told him, the line of his mouth not quite straight.

Iwaizumi opened his mouth, but a sudden lurch around a corner had his stomach roiling, fear coiling around his limbs, flooded with the adrenaline of panic. Within a second, Oikawa’s voice had regained its lovely flow, his fingers warm and secure around Iwaizumi’s. The stone of dread in the pit of Iwaizumi’s stomach felt a little less heavy.

Iwaizumi leaned his head onto Oikawa’s shoulder and breathed in the scent of vanilla.

Alright. Maybe he can do this. Just not entirely by himself.

\-----

Iwaizumi hung back, his bottom lip almost invisible under his anxious chewing. His hesitation to approach the massive gym didn't go unnoticed. Glancing back, Oikawa's hand reached out and tangled in his.

“Don't worry. Nobody will mind if you join us. And if anyone does object, I'll kick them in the crotch so hard that they won't be able to have kids,” Oikawa reassured him, pulling him along, but slowing all the same.

“It's the national team Tooru, I can't just walk in uninvited like this.”

Iwaizumi’s voice was sure, albeit a cracking at the sides. The bus ride hadn't been easy here, and the beads of sweat still present on his hairline was a testimony to that.

“Yes, you can,” Oikawa told him stoutly. “You're with me, you'll be fine.”

“Are you certain?” Iwaizumi queried slowly, uncertain. “I think I should just go for a jog.”

In response, Oikawa yanked on his hand, making him stumble into line beside him. “We're both going in,” he announced, firmly linking arms with Iwaizumi.

“Oh, fuck,” Iwaizumi muttered, but no longer resisting as Oikawa coaxed him forwards.

Oikawa didn't hold back on the theatrics, hauling open the door with one hand and bursting out cheerily, “Hi everyone! Here's my boyfriend!”

Iwaizumi had to blink a few times to adjust to the dimness of the hall (it wasn't dark, of course, but compared to the blinding sunlight outside, it was) ridding his eyes of those fuzzy black blotches.

“I wasn't aware it was ‘bring your significant other to work’ day,” came a dry voice from Iwaizumi's left, thankfully familiar.

Iwaizumi's attention was drawn away from the setup in front of him to Kuroo, visible eyebrow lifted in a neat arch.

“Well, I wasn’t aware that it was ‘be a jerk for no reason,’ day,” Oikawa snapped back, and Kuroo shook his head.

“That wasn’t even a good attempt at a comeback, never mind a good comeback.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to waste my natural wit on you,” Oikawa shot back, to which Kuroo rolled his eyes, clearly disregarding his argument.

“Wait, you train with the national team?” Iwaizumi exclaimed, surprise temporarily blotting out his anxiety.

“Yeah. Me, Bokuto and Nishinoya.”

“But you’ve never mentioned it before or told me.”

"Well...the author didn't think of it until recently, but it makes sense, doesn't it? We were both regular players at Nationals, after all. By all rights, Bokuto should be on the team along with shitface here, if the author hadn’t been lazy," Kuroo explained, inclining his head with just a hint of disgust towards Oikawa, who scowled at him. "And Nishinoya is just unfairly amazing, so he's here too. We don't want to quit college to go pro yet, so we're second string. Technically, we're all subs, but we're so far down the line that we don't even bother showing up to matches.”

Nodding, Iwaizumi took a moment to scan the hall, a bit overwhelmed by the sheer scale of it. Only those closest to the door had noticed Oikawa’s entrance, and so most people (Iwaizumi judged that there were around thirty people in the area, some milling about, some setting up, some standing in clumps, presumably getting in a quick chat before training started.

Four full courts split up the court, the nets rising up in the middle even as Iwaizumi watched. The domed roof was an incredible triumph of engineering, rounded with beams criss-crossing the shape, enough lights set up around the place to illuminate the whole floor up even if there wasn’t massive windows angled at either side. It definitely was National Team worthy, and Iwaizumi felt a shiver run down his spine as he stared upwards.

He was drawn back down out of his rapture by footsteps.

The coach, a middle-aged man with a hooked nose and pointy lips, ambled over, frowning. "You're the guy who carried off Oikawa."

"Yeah."

"Coach, meet Iwa-chan!" Oikawa said brightly, hoping to veer away from that subject.

The coach's eyebrows shot up. "You're the Iwa-chan he keeps wittering on about?"

Iwaizumi eyed up Oikawa out of the corner of his gaze, lifting an eyebrow. "Yeah, I guess. Didn't know he talked about me."

"I was picturing a girl," the coach commented shortly. "A cute one with big boobs and a bubbly personality. Basically, Oikawa, but female."

"Sorry to disappoint." Iwaizumi shrugged, hands damp in his pockets.

Oikawa gaped at the coach. "That's what you got from what I said?"

The coach shrugged his accusing gaze off. "Likely my own wistful thinking. Instead, here's a grumpy-looking sarcastic, short and buff man.”

Iwaizumi raised his eyebrows, unsure of whether to be flattered or offended by his description.

"Likely?! Do you know how many times I've referred to Iwa-chan's biceps? Have you been listening at all?”

Iwaizumi squinted at him. "What have you been saying about me?"

Oikawa laughed nervously, patting his shoulder quickly. "All compliments, of course!"

“So why, exactly, are you here?” The coach questioned skeptically, eying up his gym bag. “Yaku usually stops Oikawa from doing anything too stupid, so I don't believe you're needed.”

“I want to practice with the team,” Iwaizumi told him.

The coach waited with doubtful eyebrows. “That's it? No reasons as to why, no begging, no bargaining?”

“He's pretty good,” Kuroo admitted.

“He’s at the level of some of the best spikers here,” Oikawa cut in, sure and quick. “I'll vouch for him, and I think it would be advantageous to the team to-”

“HEY! IT’S IWAIZUMI!”

All present winced from the shout, Bokuto breaking away from a group of seemingly younger men to bound over to them.

“What are you doing here? Are you training with us?!” He queried, a large grin splitting his face, with a hint of a challenge. “You haven't been to practice in decades, and we never finished that thing we were doing, remember where we deliberately aimed towards the receivers and if they still didn't pick it up we got a point and if we received each other's spikes or serves we also got a point can we do that again?!”

The coach’s eyebrows had clambered impressively high up his forehead, almost to his hairline. “You know him, Bokuto?”

“Of course!”

“Obviously,” Kuroo said. “He shows up to our college practice sometimes. Just because. He isn't even in college.”

The coach heaved out a sigh. “Seems like I'm outnumbered. Ushijima! Get over here.”

Oikawa, very maturely, made a fart noise as Ushijima looked over, rolling his eyes as he headed towards them. He stood a good ten centimetres taller than Iwaizumi, (Iwaizumi had gotten good at judging height from his struggles with his own) and regarded him with dark, serious eyes. Iwaizumi met his gaze steadily, tilting his chin upwards.

“Hey,” he eventually said, sticking out his hand. “Iwaizumi.”

Taking it, Ushijima nodded, his grip firm and hot. “I know. We’ve met before.”

“Wasn't sure if you remembered,” Iwaizumi responded, mimicking the solid pressure Ushijima was putting on his hand.

“I do.”

Kuroo leaned over to Bokuto. “Who's your bet on?”

“What?”

“Who’s gonna let go first, do you think? My money's on Ushijima. I believe in Iwaizumi's blind stubbornness.”

“Then I say Ushijima!”

The coach cleared his throat, and both of them dropped the handshake at the same time. Kuroo released a hiss of frustration, but Oikawa only stood nearby, looking thoughtful. At least, until the coach opened his mouth.

“Alright, go for a run with Ushijima, and then we'll see if you can practice with us.”

“Wait,” Oikawa protested, placing his hands on his hips. “That's hell! Why not test him on his spikes or receives instead? That doesn't make sense!”

The coach waved his words away.

“Don't worry. I'll be doing that after the run. Iwaizumi, if you can keep up with Ushijima’s normal pace and route, you're allowed to train with us. Ushijima, are you okay with that?”

Iwaizumi nodded, as did Ushijima a moment later. Oikawa still didn't look happy, but Iwaizumi clamped a hand down on his shoulder, squeezing it carefully.

“I jog all the time. I'll be fine.”

“Hmph.”

Oikawa folded his arms over his chest, watching as Iwaizumi spun around and trailed Ushijima out of the gym doors.

\---

The first bit of the run was spent in verbal silence, only the slapping sound of sneakers on sidewalk cement and the occasional car driving past filling up the air. Iwaizumi followed Ushijima’s lead, not knowing his usual route, so hanging back slightly, half a second behind him. He hoped Ushijima didn’t mistake it for him struggling to keep up with his methodical, vigorous rate.

Out of the blue, and through the thick noise of traffic, Ushijima’s deep voice grabbed Iwaizumi’s attention.

“You're Oikawa's boyfriend.”

It was more of a statement than a question, but Iwaizumi decided to answer anyway as they ran past a playground, children leaping into the sandpit recklessly.

“Yeah.”

Ushijima ran on for a few more paces. He was quick, his strides quite a bit longer than Iwaizumi’s, but Iwaizumi found that he had no problem keeping up. He ran faster than this when he was agitated. They rounded a corner, passing a scrawny tree bearing the first signs of peaches, already bent over from the weight of the small, pale orbs.

“How did you get him to accept you?”

Iwaizumi cast a curious glance over at Ushijima, who kept his gaze rigidly straight ahead.

“Why?”

“We have worked on the same team for many years, and still he doesn't want to toss to me. It’s affecting our success, and, although it’s improved recently, I still don't understand.”

“And you think I can help?”

“Yes.”

Moments stretched into minutes, and then Iwaizumi's voice rose, just as the woman fumbling with her keys, a sneezing child tugging at her jumper, slipped out of sight.

“Don't take any notice of his actions in public,” Iwaizumi said finally. “You have to read in between the lines. It's annoying, but he rarely says anything straight out - in fairness, he has been getting better at that recently, but I still have to judge his mood carefully. Usually I just know, or get a feeling, but I think that's only because I'm around him so much. I don't know how you see him.”

Out of breath from speaking, Iwaizumi gulped down some air quickly. His shoe stuttered on some gravel, and he glanced down, careful to watch his step on the uneven ground. The tall buildings were changing to independent, privately-owned houses, pathways stretching out leisurely through budding gardens.

“I don't know how to do that,” Ushijima finally replied. “I can’t understand him.”

Iwaizumi stopped paying attention to the surroundings for a moment, and instead focused on Ushijima, on his subtly tensed jaw, his eyebrows just a fraction lower than his normally deathly calm expression Iwaizumi had seen on almost every copy of any sports magazine. Frustration.

“If you can’t understand him, I’ll ask him to be clearer while talking to you. He can have so many hidden meanings to his word it can be a pain at times, anyway,” Iwaizumi offered, bounding off the balls of his feet. Ushijima didn’t appear to be tiring, but the first twinges of exertion were building up in Iwaizumi’s limbs. He wasn’t worried, though. He’d ran on through borderline exhaustion with barely any sleep before - this was a cinch so far.

“I would appreciate that,” Ushijima acknowledged.

“He doesn’t always act logically. Well, almost never. He’s...complicated,” Iwaizumi decided on, shaking his head.

“Without a doubt,” Ushijima agreed readily.

Iwaizumi inclined his head, and promptly went blank for anything else to say. He convinced himself that that wasn’t exactly a bad thing. Ushijima didn’t much seem like the chatterbox type, in any case. So Iwaizumi contented himself with his own idle thoughts, sightseeing ordinary scenes out of the corner of his eyes as the traffic thinned out, then thickened again as they looped back.

\--

As Iwaizumi stepped in with his sweat-ridden body behind Ushijima, the coach looked mildly surprised, his lush eyebrows up in a smooth arch. Oikawa waved at Iwaizumi from the midst of whatever drill they were in the middle of, beaming with obvious pride. Yaku deliberately aimed a receive at him, and, distracted, Oikawa only noticed the ball a second before it plopped down onto his face. Snorting, Iwaizumi gave Yaku a thumbs up, which was promptly returned, under Oikawa's scathing glower.

The coach approached them, leaving his assistant to keep an eye on the players’ performances.

“Ushijima, did you run at your usual pace?”

“Of course.”

He turned to Iwaizumi, who was breathing rough and hard.

“So what exactly do you do for a living, to be at the fitness level of a professional athlete?”

“I used to play a lot of sports in high school, and I run a lot,” was Iwaizumi’s simple answer.

The coach examined him for a moment, then jerked his thumb over his shoulder, at the players obediently carrying out the exercise. “Go towel yourself off or whatever to catch your breath, then join them. I hope you're as good as volleyball as you are at running.”

“I am.”

Iwaizumi prayed that was true with all his might.

“Then you shouldn't have a problem fitting right in. Now go, I have a team to train.”

The coach turned away, and Iwaizumi blew out a breath of relief, trailing Ushijima into the changing rooms, grabbing his bag on the way there.

To wipe off the sweat took all of two seconds (it was going to get back on his skin anyway) and Iwaizumi quickly changed into his spare t-shirt. He hoped that the confident saying etched down the front wasn't too loud.

Keep moving forward, that wasn't too bad, was it?

No. No, stop thinking like that. Who the fuck cared if it was loud? Iwaizumi was pretty sure he could back it up with skill, so there was no need to worry. He glanced over at Ushijima, as built as himself, who was currently pulling on a fresh t-shirt, and decided to walk out.

Oikawa saw Iwaizumi for approximately half a second before he threw an arm up in the air, waving him over vigorously. He felt the coach’s gaze burn into his back as he jogged over to Oikawa, who briefly broke away from the drill to meet him.

“Okay, so here’s what you need to know to not fuck it up,” he began cheerfully, and Iwaizumi’s hackles rose.

“I’m not going to fuck it up,” he snapped back, a bit sharper than he intended, but Oikawa only lifted his eyebrows.

“Wow, you’re a lot more on edge than I thought you’d be,” Oikawa observed swiftly, to which Iwaizumi couldn’t deny. Oikawa huffed, his expression relaxing from the public mask for just a moment. “You don’t have to worry, Hajime. I wasn’t lying about what I said to the coach back there, and you keeping up with Ushijima-chan just reconfirmed what I already knew. You’re more than good enough to be here, so just play like you usually do, okay?”

At Iwaizumi’s silence, Oikawa’s tone grew stern.

“I’ve whipped all the spikers on this team into shape, do I have to do the same for you, too? Because I will,” he finished, and somehow he made it sound like a very real threat.

Grimacing, Iwaizumi shook his head. “I’m good.”

“Okay, glad that’s sorted out, now get your ass over there,” Oikawa ordered, grabbing Iwaizumi’s arm and hauling him over to the rest of the team. “We’re spiking on that side, receiving on that side, and once you’ve spiked run to the other side, once you’re received go back and don't bash into anyone. See? Simple,” he told him, and promptly shoved Iwaizumi into the line for spiking, positioning his own body next to the net, slipping through the bustle of flying balls and landing feet.

Iwaizumi didn’t even have time to curse him out. The person in front of him was gone before he’d blinked, and then Kuroo had called out his name, throwing up a ball for him. His eyes locked on the target and his body acted automatically, feet slapping on the court as he ran forwards and leapt. The rush of relief and nostalgia, whooshing the air from his lungs as he slammed down the ball, whisked all his nerves away in one solid hit. He was smiling when his feet met the floor, already flinging himself forwards into the receiving line.

As he settled himself into position, the ginger one was running up - Hinata, wasn't it? Oikawa had mentioned him once or twice. Iwaizumi's sharpened eyes tracked the arc of the ball, saw Hinata’s arm pull back - and then his body was moving on its own, no thinking needed for him to flatten himself against the court, arms out perfectly straight.

The receive wasn't the best - Hinata swung a lot faster than he'd anticipated, but it still managed to get the ball more or less where it needed to go. He was up in the next second, back to the spiking line.

It was easy to fall back into the rhythm. He missed this, the sound of sweat squeaking underneath sneakers, the hard pants from others and his own mouth as the constant movement took its toll.

“Wrap it up! Matches!”

Iwaizumi relaxed, all the tenseness filtering out of his body as everyone scattered around him. A hand grabbed his arm and hauled him over to where the coach was standing.

“Come on, Iwa-chan, you can't always just stand around looking clueless,” Oikawa berated him, to which Iwaizumi shook off his hand roughly.

“I wasn't-”

“Listen up.”

The coach began to list out the teams. Oikawa stuck out his tongue at Iwaizumi as he strolled over to the opposite group of people, which of course was made up of most of the players Iwaizumi actually knew. Dammit.

“We're going to decimate you,” Oikawa called out, backed by Nishinoya’s hollering and Yaku’s stout gazing, intimidating despite his stature.

Fuck, Iwaizumi thought as Bokuto was assigned to another team. He returned the forlorn expression Bokuto shot him, shaking his head in disappointment. It would've been nice to compete against him, but he supposed there was loads of other strong spikers here to test himself again.

He nodded as Kageyama strode over to his side, who nodded back politely.

“Iwaizumi-san.”

“Kageyama.”

Kageyama apparently didn’t know what to say after the initial greeting, so he wordlessly waited for the rest of the team to be distributed onto teams, his thundercloud gaze steadfast. Running a hand through his hair, Iwaizumi met Oikawa’s eyes, who narrowed his warningly. As in, don’t you dare be friendly with him.

“Kageyama?”

Kageyama turned his head to him, blinking blankly at him.

“Iwaizumi-san?”

Iwaizumi gave him a wide grin, mischief sneaking into the corners of his eyes.

“We’re going to win and rub Oikawa’s face in it.”

Looking mildly uncomfortable, Kaegeyama’s gaze flickered over to Oikawa nervously, who was currently glowering at Iwaizumi with everything he had. (Iwaizumi had made more than certain that he could be overheard.) Iwaizumi only grinned back innocently - well, as innocently as he could manage. He wasn’t as good of an actor as Oikawa was, and Oikawa’s scrunched-up nose and pulled-back lips let him know exactly how disgusted he was with his behaviour.

Hinata bounced over to them, standing beside Kageyama. Feeling sharp eyes on him, Iwaizumi waited a couple of seconds to see if he'd stop staring, concluding that it was probably because he was new. He'd want to size up another spiker too.

After a good thirty seconds, he decided that it had gone on long enough.

Iwaizumi caught Hinata’s gaze, who was leaning forward slightly to look at him from around Kageyama. He didn’t appear to have the self-awareness to realise that Iwaizumi could clearly see him all the time, and glanced away quickly, a hint of guilt appearing in his otherwise amiable expression.

Iwaizumi didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“What is it?”

Hinata rotated his head around again and squinted at him suspiciously, eyes roaming up and down his frame.

“You're sort of short for a spiker.”

“I can manage,” was Iwaizumi's curt response. “You know that height isn't everything , right?”

“Of course I know that!” Hinata answered, his voice tinged with offense. “But it’s just that you look too macho to jump up really high like all the short people who play volleyball do and when you land it must be like KA-BLAM or some other really loud noise and I’m trying to figure out why Oikawa-san thinks so highly of you I’ve been trying to get him to approve of me since FOREVER-”

“Nope,” Iwaizumi told him, cutting him off quickly before he could ramble on too much. “I can jump perfectly fine too.”

Hinata shut his mouth almost sulkily, sticking out his lower lip stubbornly, obviously thinking hard.

“But how? The laws of physics don't work like that!”

“What would you know about the laws of physics?” Kageyama cut in. “And he thinks highly of Iwaizumi-san because he’s his boyfriend, idiot.”

Hackles going up, Hinata straightened up to Kageyama, lifting his chin defiantly as he defended himself valiantly.

“Just because you got a better grade in it than me in high school doesn't mean you can rub it in my face forever! You only got 8% more than me right!”

Kageyama gave him a flat, calm look.

“Which means I did better than you.”

“Well, it doesn't matter now, does it?” Hinata challenged. “We're both where we want to be.”

“Mm. You don’t always need good grades to get what you want,” Iwaizumi agreed, thinking of his own non-existent high school cert.

“See?!” Hinata crowed, bouncing up and down on his toes. “Iwaizumi-san agrees with me! Two against one, I’m right!”

Before Kagyama could respond, Kuroo’s name was called, and he slunk over to Iwaizumi, an anticipating grin slung onto his lips.

“Pleasure to be playing with you again,” he said, slapping Iwaizumi hard on the shoulder. “Let’s show pisspot over there how volleyball is really played, yeah?”

“Pisspot,” Iwaizumi repeated, eying up Oikawa, who was currently in the middle of arguing with Ushijima, standing nearby with another group, about something trivial and irrelevant, judging from Yaku’s exasperated stares. “That suits him. I need to start calling him that.”

“It’s perfect, isn’t it?” Kuroo agreed wholeheartedly. “I’d just love to piss all over his face.”

Iwaizumi gave him a hard stare. “I know you're joking, but-”

“Whoa, in the non-kinky way, obviously,” Kuroo clarified, holding up his palms. “Chill, Hedgehog-chan. Lighten up a little, you look like you're about to slit my throat with your fingernail.”

Iwaizumi still looked far from pacified.

“Even so-”

The coach finished naming the teams and began addressing them, luckily for Kuroo, who grimaced and shifted away from Iwaizumi. Avoiding Iwaizumi's death glare, Kuroo mentally drew a line across the “insulting Oikawa in front of Iwaizumi,” part of his brain.

“Alright, on court one, you and you. Bokuto’s team, put on the blue bibs. Oikawa’s team, you’re orange. Kuroo, your team is yellow. Then you’re whites or whatever. Losers play losers, winners play winners, you know the drill.”

“Aye,” came the echoing response, and Iwaizumi's team began drifting towards the bibs.

“Here,” Kuroo called out, tossing him over a yellow bib. “It'll bring out your eyes.”

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi replied curtly, slipping it on over his head with a bit of difficulty.

“Yours is too small for you! Give it here!”

Hinata’s shout drew Iwaizumi's attention, who glanced over at the duo, and raised his eyebrows. He wasn't surprised to see Kageyama fluidly dodging every attack of Hinata’s flailing hands, shaking his head with an expression of mild disgust on his face.

“Haa? No way, it isn't my problem if yours is too big for you,” Kageyama retorted back, leaning back out of Hinata’s reach, who was currently trying to grab the upper straps of his bib.

“It is! Come on, there's none left,” Hinata pleaded, attempting to reason as Kageyama turned his body and he stumbled past, regaining his balance unnaturally quickly. “It's not fair! This one’s stupidly big on me - my arm’ll get caught or something!”

“The only thing that's stupid here is you,” Kageyama answered calmly, seizing his hair with one hand and holding him back. “Tie it up at the ends if you're worried about that.”

“Changed a lot since high school, I see,” Oikawa commented dryly, observing the exchange with flat eyes. “As generous and giving as ever, Tobio-chan.”

“Oikawa,” Yaku warned, but Oikawa only waved him off.

“I'm only making an observation, Yaku-chan. Nothing that isn't true.”

Kuroo stepped up beside Iwaizumi, leaning in to whisper, “it's just because the author was lazy and didn't analyse the two main characters to see how their relationship would develop, and Oikawa's criticising her about that.”

“Oh,” was Iwaizumi's great response. “Hold on.”

He quickly pulled off his own bib and stepped forward, holding it out to Hinata. “Here. This one’s tight on me. It’ll probably fit you.”

“Sorry that I underestimated how thick your torso was,” Kuroo drawled out, but Hinata lit up.

“Really? Thank you so much, Iwaizumi-san!”

He whipped off his bib and handed it to Iwaizumi, sending a sour look Kageyama’s way. “At least someone here isn't a jerk-face.”

Nishinoya snorted loudly, slapping one hand against his thigh in appreciation. “He's got you there, Kageyama.”

“What did you say?!” Kageyama growled, striding irritably towards Hinata.

“Okay children, let’s calm down, shall we?” Oikawa smoothly suggested, spreading out his hands. “The matter is resolved, so let's not waste any more match time. Sound good?”

Kageyama relaxed, nodding respectfully. Even Hinata seemed to take notice, his eyes already glittering at the mention of a match.

“And,” Oikawa continued, smirking at Iwaizumi. “In response to Iwa-chan’s earlier comment, it’s good to have false confidence. I hate to tell you this, but we’re going to wipe the floor with you.”

“Just try it,” was Iwaizumi's stubborn answer, and one corner of Oikawa's mouth quirked upwards.

“Oh, we’ll more than try it. We’ll succeed.”

 

“‘Kay, enough pointless build-up and flirting and more volleyball,” Kuroo interrupted, clapping his hands together. “Pretty sure the other two teams have already played their first set. Fuckin’ get a move on.”

“Fine, you asshole,” Oikawa complained, but gave Iwaizumi a cheeky two-fingered salute. “Have fun getting beaten by the best, Iwa-chan.”

“Don't cry too much when you lose,” was the deadpan answer just before Kuroo physically shoved Iwaizumi to the right side of the court.

“Didn't I tell you two to stop that? For one second, even. Give us some peace, please,” Kuroo sighed out as Yaku grabbed a nearby ball.

“We're serving first,” Oikawa announced as everyone filtered into position, Iwaizumi ending up at the back right corner.

“Says who?” Iwaizumi challenged, bending over to rest his hands on his knees.

“Says me,” Oikawa shot back, bouncing the ball against the court, toes on the back line. “Any objections?”

Iwaizumi opened his mouth, but Yaku’s loud groan cut across him before he could say anything.

“For the love of fuck, nobody cares who serves first at this point, just as long as the match actually starts.”

Iwaizumi closed his mouth. Giving a tinkling laugh, Oikawa bounced the ball again, this time more forcefully, more like a slam than a bounce.

“Impatient, Yaku-chan,” he chided playfully, backing up a few steps. “But I can't deny that I'm looking forward to crushing my rival and my boyfriend, all at once.”

He spun the ball up into the air, raced forwards a step, and leapt, his body arching in the air like a bowstring pulled taut. Iwaizumi had to mentally slap himself to stop himself getting distracted by the elegant form of his body. He spent a moment doing it, but it was only a half a second.

It took him a moment to realise that the ball had landed, flattened down on their side of the court and now happily rolling away. He was fairly certain he saw Hinata’s legs trembling.

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi muttered, glowering across at Oikawa, who was looking pretty damn smug, waving innocently at him.

“You are planning on actually touching the ball this set, right?” Oikawa asked merrily, his hands settled lightly on his hips.

“Aim the next one at me,” Iwaizumi called over to him. It may be even more impressive in person, and _fuck_ , that was fast, but he’d rather eat raw egg than admit that to Oikawa.

Oikawa stuck up his middle finger at him, but his words were a lot less aggressive. “Whatever you say, sugar tits.” He winked, adding a sweet - borderline sickening - smile to his lips, and Iwaizumi scowled.

“I am going to aim all my spikes at your face.”

As Oikawa regained another ball, Iwaizumi inhaled a deep breath, promising himself that he'd get this one. Perfectly. He wouldn't get distracted by Oikawa.

Oikawa's arm whipped forwards, and then the ball was spiralling straight towards Iwaizumi, eyes wide and gleaming.

Oikawa landed, and winced, a minuscule tightening of his face and shoulders. Iwaizumi’s jaw clenched shut as the force drove against his forearms, his heels bearing the extra weight for an instant before it snapped back, releasing the pressure. Stumbling backwards, Iwaizumi blinked, saw the ball looping upwards neatly, and couldn't stop himself from yelling, triumphant.

“Fuck yeah!”

“Tch,” Oikawa breathed out, but his brown eyes were soft as he took in Iwaizumi's sparkling grin.

Kageyama’s hands were swift and deft, propelling the ball upwards, straight to Hinata’s palm. Hinata, despite his speed, spiked it straight into Nishinoya’s waiting arms. Then it was Kuroo’s turn, one eye lazily tracking the path of the ball as Oikawa pushed it up into the air, into the spiker’s swing- Iwaizumi wasn't sure who it was, curly dark hair like Matsukawa but sporting a serious expression. Kuroo, as always, touched the ball, smirking at the opposing spiker before landing.

“One touch!”

To his disappointment, the ball sailed right past Iwaizumi, much too high for him to reach. Before he could chase it, the scurrying slap of sneakers rose to his ears and Hinata whizzed past him, and leapt. The inside of his wrist connected with the ball with a solid thwack, and it was sent flying back the way it came. Iwaizumi’s eyes were wide as Hinata thumped back down onto the court - seeing the jump on television was one thing, in person was most definitely another.

He turned just in time to see the ball run delicately along the rim of the net for a second, only to drop on the other side, inches away from Yaku’s skilled palms.

“Yes! Lucky!”

Hinata fist-bumped the air excitedly, even as Oikawa gave Yaku a quick, reassuring smile.

“There’s no way you could’ve predicted that, or the little twerp’s movements.”

“It’s still irritating,” Yaku snapped back, Kageyama and Hinata slapping their hands together in an over-enthusiastic celebration of one single point.

“Nice one,” Iwaizumi commented as they settled back into position, the server preparing behind them.

Hinata nodded, most of the jubilant energy replaced with that predator-like concentration, the tail of the cat swishing before they ripped into their prey. “It was simply luck this time,” he said, eerily calm, his eyes trained straight ahead. “But thanks, anyway.”

“Wouldn’t call that just luck,” Iwaizumi responded, and Hinata scrunched up his shoulders, seemingly chuffed.

Before he could answer, the ball was shooting out over their heads, and their minds were thrown back into the game. Iwaizumi’s focus made time speed up, and soon his palms were cradling the ball, his toes peeking just over the back line.

 

Iwaizumi could feel his blood gushing through his vessels, providing energy, a spurt of confidence. He was in good form today, he could feel it. Maybe it was the run beforehand, or the fact that he was sleeping well, or how Oikawa was gazing at him - no, that would be sappy.

 

With a deep breath, he arched his arm, chucked the spinning ball up high, leapt, and smashed.

Yaku's arms intercepted the ball, and a split second later it was sailing upwards - up into the stands surrounding the court. All eyes whirled to Iwaizumi, whose face rapidly began darkening.

 

Yaku’s voice was first to comment.

 

“Huh.”

 

“Iwa-chan, that. Was. Amazing!” Oikawa's voice split through the air, high with excitement and pride. “That's my boyfriend!”

 

“Oh my god Oikawa, shut up,” Kuroo drawled out. “We know he's your fucking boyfriend, you don't need to keep reminding us every two seconds.”

 

“No way!” Hinata exclaimed. “He got a point off of Yaku! No waaaaaaay!”

 

“Probably a fluke,” Iwaizumi commented offhandedly, catching a new ball chucked to him.

 

“It better be,” Yaku called over to him, hands on his thighs, in position. “I have pride and a reputation to uphold, Iwaizumi. I'm getting the next one.”

 

Iwaizumi's eyes shifted across to Nishinoya, who was quiet, but he saw what his glinting, cat-like eyes were saying.

 

_Bring it here bring it here over here over here_

 

His aura of intensity didn't unnerve Iwaizumi, however. Oikawa still clutched onto the crown for that, and Iwaizumi suspected he would always hold onto it.

 

Closing his eyes for a deep, orientating breath, Iwaizumi's focus narrowed, to only Nishinoya, the ball’s smooth texture, and Oikawa, somehow making it past his concentration. Just like that time he arm-wrestled Daichi.

 

Tossing up high and straight, the ball rolling off of his fingers nicely, Iwaizumi began to gain speed, arms curving back for the jump. His hand circled over his head and hit flat against the ball, directing it rapidly and forcefully to the spot between Nishinoya and Yaku.

 

“Yours!” Yaku called and the same time Nishinoya’s feet flew to another position, the ball whacking off of his reddened forearms a second later.

 

Iwaizumi cursed, but was undoubtedly impressed, watching the ball course up into the air as he regained his place on the court.

 

“It's coming back over here!” came a shout as the ball crossed over the net threshold.

That gave Iwaizumi some satisfaction, at least.

 

Kageyama sped to place underneath it, the reflection of the ball growing larger in his pupils. Iwaizumi started forwards, as did all the other players on the court, and, to his surprise, the ball headed towards him as he tensed to jump.

 

“Iwaizumi-san!”

 

He slammed it down, deflecting it off of the side of the blocker’s hand, only for Oikawa to twist his upper body around amazingly fast, his wrists successfully keeping it from hitting the court. It spun diagonally through the air, Nishinoya leaping upwards to toss it up in a high arch, and Iwaizumi quickly backed up to receive.

 

Of course it was a feint.

 

Iwaizumi heard Kageyama’s hiss of frustration as it bounced gently off the court in front of them, scowling at Oikawa. Oikawa threw up a swift peace sign, tilting his head smugly.

 

“I guess I can just read you two too well.”

 

“Fuck off, that was on reflex. You couldn’t have predicted what path the ball would take when it got deflected,” Iwaizumi reasoned, crossing his arms across his chest.

 

Oikawa only winked at him. “Whatever makes you feel better, _sugartits_ ,” he announced, turning away with a flourishing wave of his hand.

 

Iwaizumi’s nostrils dilated, and he started forwards, his intention clear in his angry, “ _Sugartits?_ ”

 

“Iwaizumi - come on, the nickname was dreadful, but at least try to focus on the game,” Kuroo groaned out, wrapping both of his arms around one impressive bicep and tugging him back into place.

 

Oikawa smirked widely, offering up a cheeky peace sign as Iwaizumi was hauled forcefully back and pacified by Kuroo’s promise of beating him in volleyball. Wearing a deep scowl, Iwaizumi backed down, drawing his finger across his neck in Oikawa’s direction.

 

“Threatening,” Oikawa deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

 

The match resumed, and the next time the ball came to Iwaizumi (a risky back attack) , even Yaku’s reaction was too slow, Oikawa only able to watch as the ball smashed into the court within a blink. Iwaizumi decided to be chivalrous and just grin at Oikawa, instead of a much ruder gesture.  

 

“Well,” Yaku started, straightening up and giving Iwaizumi a begrudgingly impressed glance. “I suppose when you can hit it as hard as that, you don’t need the leftie advantage.”

 

“Whoa, where’d that come out of?!”

 

Hinata, eyes wide with awe was bouncing excitedly at Iwaizumi’s heels, who shrugged. “Oikawa pissed me off.”

 

“I wish I had that kind of strength! Then I could just go ka-pow and I wouldn't need to worry about blocks or anything at all!”

 

“You'd still need to analyse blocks…”

 

Oikawa ducked his face, but it wasn’t fast enough. Yaku saw his little smile of pride, and it clicked into place swiftly. He closed the distance between them in a few steps and dug his elbow into Oikawa’s hip sharply, earning him a whelp of protest.

 

“What was that for?!” he complained, rubbing his waist, glowering down at Yaku.

 

“You do like showing him off, don’t you?”

 

“I’m not showing him off. I’m just showing him what he can do,” Oikawa told him airly, brushing a bit of invisible lint off of his shorts. “And everyone else, of course.”

 

“So, showing him off, basically.”

 

Pushing his lips outwards into a pout, Oikawa turned fully to Yaku, placing his hands on his hips. “The other team is about to serve, shouldn’t you be getting ready like the reliable libero you are? Or are you handing that title over to Nishinoya so soon?”

 

“No need to get personal, asswipe,” Yaku muttered, but he squared up to the net nonetheless, ready to return whatever they threw at him.

 

A while later, Oikawa gasped out a breath, trying to ignore the throbbing in his knee. Taking a glance at the score, he cursed softly and breathlessly. With Yaku and Nishinoya on his side, defence was insanely strong - on the ground, in the air was lacking -  but they could only cover so much of the court. And on the other side of the net, Kuroo and Iwaizumi were steadily picking up hit after hit, keeping Kageyama and Hinata free to do their thing.

23-24. One more point and Kuroo’s team wins.

Oikawa hated losing, even to his boyfriend. The fact that Kageyama was also on the other team only served to annoy him further.

 

The thing about volleyball was, it could be tedious, one point seeming to last for aeons, or it could be over in an instant, two touches was all that was needed. Before he could grab his focus back out of his irritation and back into the game, the ball was pattering to a stop by his feet, blasted past a half-hearted block. Yaku, splayed out on his front, rolled over with a grimace, flinging his arms out to the sides.

 

“Oikawa, this is your fault for antagonising Iwaizumi,” Yaku accused, pointing tiredly at him. “We would’ve been able to concentrate on Hinata’s tactics if we hadn’t been so worried about his power.”

 

“Yeah, thanks, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi added, half-smiling at him from the other side of the net, sweat droplets gathering on his chin. Lifting the hem of his t-shirt, he blotted off his face, and Oikawa had to force himself to look away before his eyes were drawn downwards, into naughtier territory.

 

“Lucky break,” was his dry and only comment, ducking under the net to face Iwaizumi. “Next time, we're winning, straight through.”

 

Iwaizumi raised one thick eyebrow skeptically, shifting his weight onto one leg, hand loosely settled on the adjoining hip. “And you think I'll just let that happen?”

 

“Time to move on,” Kuroo interrupted, seizing Iwaizumi’s arm again and attempting to drag him away. “The other team’s already in place and you two can eyefuck or whatever later. Bye.”

 

With an apologetic glance at Oikawa, Iwaizumi allowed himself to be brought onto the next court as the teams swapped over. Shifting his focus to the next team filtering onto the court, Oikawa returned to his side, purposely not acknowledging Yaku’s pointed stare at his knee.

 

“No more jump serves,” Yalu told him lowly as both teams began to get ready.  

 

“I'm fine,” Oikawa muttered back, grabbing the ball and making his way to the back line.

 

“No more jump serves,” Yaku repeated, not changing the tone of his voice.

 

Oikawa’s nose screwed up, but he sighed, relenting. “Fine.” He needed to learn to cover up his limp better - Iwaizumi and Yaku seemed to be able to tell whenever he even had a twinge in his knee, and Oikawa didn't like that. It was supposed to be him reading people accurately, not the other way around.

 

Yaku only nodded in response, satisfied, and the game began.

\---------

Iwaizumi’s chest was heaving as he rejoined Oikawa later, taking the water bottle from his hands and gulping it down.

 

“So, how'd it go?” Oikawa asked him, waiting as Iwaizumi dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, handing the bottle back to Kuroo.

 

“Ten wins, two losses,” Iwaizumi replied. “You?”

 

Oikawa looked at him, his lips already forming into a sulk. “You're lying.”

 

“Nope. You?”

 

“Eight wins,” Oikawa begrudgingly told him, sitting down on a nearby bench and stretching out his legs. “Our attack power was lacking.”

 

Iwaizumi folded himself down beside him, and touched his shoulder to Oikawa’s. “Thanks for bringing me here. It was fun.”

 

“Thanks for actually coming.”

 

“Not like I had a choice, was it?” Iwaizumi grumbled, observing Kageyama and Hinata bicker across the hall. “You practically dragged me here.”

 

“At least you had the manners to thank me, for once,” Oikawa pointed out, absently massaging his knee. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

 

Iwaizumi stood up, turning to offer Oikawa a hand up. “Come on. We have to help with cleanup.”

\-- ----

Cleanup time was always the worst with Oikawa, easily bored and more than willing to distract.  

 

Kuroo watched as Oikawa nipped behind Iwaizumi and slapped a palm across his butt, hard. Damn, he thought as Iwaizumi lunged for him, feigning a smack on his shoulder before ducking abruptly, slamming his hand against his ass in retaliation.

If he did that to Kenma...well, he wouldn’t. He wouldn't like it at all.

Iwaizumi’s teeth were curled into his bottom lip forcefully as Yaku yelled at them to stop fucking flirting and focus on clearing up, trying to hold back the grin threatening to burst all over his face. Oikawa, on the other hand, didn’t even bother attempting to gloss over his amusement, dancing deftly away from Yaku stomping towards him, high laughter rolling out past his lips.

“You know what?” Yaku asked in utter exasperation, as Oikawa pulled down one eyelid and stuck out his tongue at him, hiding behind Iwaizumi. “Fine. Don't clean up and keep distracting Iwaizumi. But I'm not covering for your lateness again or doing you any favours. At all. Good luck.”

He turned tail, and Oikawa hastily scrambled around Iwaizumi, running with a slight limp to catch onto his jersey.

“Aw, Yaku-chan, don't be so harsh! We were-”

“We?” Iwaizumi rumbled out. “Don't drag me into this.”

“Don't pretend you didn't like it,” Kuroo called over to them, absently bopping a ball up with his fingertips. “You gave as good as you got, mate.”

“You're not part of his conversation,” Oikawa said snarkily, purposely kicking another ball over to Kuroo. “Fuck off.”

“I disagree,” Kuroo argued back, but somewhat distanced and lazy. “I witnessed everything, which makes me an excellent person for Yaku to seek advice from. By the way, it's to dump you.”

“Yaku-chan wouldn't dump me as a friend, I'm way too pretty and valuable and witty,” Oikawa retorted back, gaze flitting to Yaku, who had turned away and actually attempting to clear up. “Isn't that right?”

“Leave me be,” came the tired answer.

Oikawa spun around, facing Iwaizumi with a shrug, who squinted and tilted his head forwards slightly. Frowning, Oikawa seemed to respond in turn, making Iwaizumi grin and Kuroo realise what was going on. It was the same when him and Kenma were alone and discussing something, minimal words were needed.

The sound of Oikawa’s palm flat against Yaku’s rear caused Kuroo to snap out of it, grinning widely. So that's what they were discussing. Oh, mate. He was dead. So dead.

As Yaku whirled around, eyes narrowing, Oikawa backed up in a hurry, unable to prevent his smile from sticking out at the edges of his apologetic expression.

“Lighten up Yaku, I was only teasing,” Oikawa begged for forgiveness, not daring to take his eyes off of a stalking forward Yaku. “Your girlfriend isn't going to get jealous now, is she? I know I'm better-looking, but - hey!”

Oikawa ducked a viciously thrown volleyball, diving behind Iwaizumi, who promptly stepped away. “Don't hide behind me. You deserve it.”

“What type of boyfriend are you?” Oikawa lamented, scrambling further away from Yaku, currently brandishing a sweeping brush quite intimidatingly. “You won't even protect me from this tiny angry man.”

“TINY?!”

“Oikawa, shut up. You make him angrier every time you open your mouth,” Iwaizumi sighed out.

“Solid advice, but where’s the fun in that?” Kuroo commented, smirking as Oikawa gracefully dodged around a particularly malicious sweep of Yaku’s brush.

“Yeah, watching Oikawa get his ass kicked is real amusing,” Iwaizumi deadpanned, stooping to gather up another isolated ball. He twisted around, and rolled his eyes. “Come on, Oikawa, quit it already. You’ve had your fun now.”

“I agree,” Yaku stated shortly, throwing the brush up on his shoulder and storming off to the other end of the gym. “You’ve bothered me enough for one day.”

Oikawa straightened up, huffing out through his nostrils. “You’re both such spoilsports.”

“No, we’re just productive,” Iwaizumi objected, tossing him over a brush. “Kuroo, you’re not doing shit, take down those nets.”

“One day here and already he’s giving us orders,” Kuroo observed dryly, reluctantly slinking over to the net and detangling the string. “How arrogant is that?”

“I agree,” Oikawa seconded him, sulking as he defiantly threw a ball into one of the rolling basket things. “He's a horrible dictator. The worst. In the entire history of dictators.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, heavy with exasperation. “Whatever. Just do something not irritating and I'll get off your back.”

“I want you behind my back, but not in that way,” Oikawa complained loudly, once again demonstrating his complete lack of shame.

Iwaizumi lifted his substantial eyebrows, giving Oikawa a look. “Well, do as I say and I might be, in that other way.”

“Keep the gross sexual flirting until you two are alone, please,” Yaku practically begged.

“Sometimes I ponder if I'm in hell when I'm around you,” Kuroo remarked, throwing a glance over at Oikawa as he folded up the net. “Then I remember that I don't have to live with you.”

“Glad to hear that I brighten up your day,” Oikawa smiled back, dangerous in its width. “Maybe we should move in with them, Iwa-chan. I think we've put Mattsun and Makki through quite enough, don't you? You wouldn't turn away Iwa-chan, would you? Your close friend, in a time of need?”

“I wouldn't. But I'd sure as hell kick you out the door,” Kuroo answered, tossing his hair to the side and revealing a flash of his illusive right eye for a second. “I wouldn't even give you the closet.”

“He's not even out of it in the first place,” Iwaizumi mumbled underneath his breath.

Yaku snorted, then quickly tried to cover it up with coughing as Oikawa glowered accusingly at him.

“That's not fair! I'm like two-thirds of the way out!”

“Yeah, sure.”

“He's out to anyone who actually knows him,” Yalu pointed out helpfully. “He's very obviously fucking gay. Iwaizumi, on the other hand, was a bit of a surprise.”

“Surprise to me too,” Iwaizumi admitted, shrugging.

“Ha, have you ever turned a straight man gay? Didn't think so,” Oikawa retorted at Kuroo, not even waiting for an answer. “So I'm better than you.”

“That isn't how it works, asshole,” Iwaizumi grumbled, prodding Oikawa's arm, hard.

“Owww,” Oikawa complained, giving Iwaizumi a hurt look before turning away. “Let me feel special for one moment, would you?”

“I'll make you feel special later,” slipped past Iwaizumi’s lips and brain-to-mouth filter before he could stop it, but Oikawa's answering, knowing smile back was worth it, not to mention Kuroo’s dramatic gagging.

“Would you both shut up and sweep the floor before we get locked in?!” Yaku snapped, and even Iwaizumi bowed his head and got to work.

\---

“You fit in perfectly,” Oikawa chirped out into the amiable silence of the locker room.

Iwaizumi frowned, mentally scanning through the day. “I don’t think that guy with the mask liked me.”

“Nope! He’s just quiet,” Oikawa assured him, turning to him with his hands on his hips. “You know, I didn’t expect Tobio-chan and Chibi-chan to take to you that much. I knew they’d adore you, but that much? You’re like a mini celebrity to them.”

“Nah,” Iwaizumi dismissed him, towelling himself dry. “They respect me as much as you.”

“They like you more,” Oikawa insisted, unsure of whether to be proud or pissed off. “Trust me, you'll become their role model soon.”

“As long as a repeat of Kindaichi doesn't happen,” Iwaizumi muttered. “I don't want to deal with that situation again.”

“Oh, I’d turn both of them down on your behalf, I'd have no problem doing that,” Oikawa declared, a good deal more cheerfully than he should have. “You wouldn't have to deal with anything like that.”

“I would. I wouldn't give them the fate of having you talk to them about that. And I'm not that shitty of a person,” Iwaizumi stated firmly, gathering up his clothes. “Oh, and can you be a bit nicer to Ushijima? You're confusing the hell out of him.”

“Oh no, you didn't actually talk to him, did you?!”

“Yeah? He's sound. Didn't talk a lot, either. It was nice, having a bit of quiet for once,” Iwaizumi commented, giving Oikawa a pointed look as he zipped up his jeans.

“Oh, shut up! I know you love my constant talking,” Oikawa reminded him, chucking a wet towel at him. “And I know I'm not being fair on him, but it's… just hard to let stuff go, okay? I thought back then if I went to Nationals my dad would treat me like my sister and, I don't know, not be the family disappointment or whatever. And I couldn't because of him.”  

Iwaizumi eyed him up. “Pretty sure you're the one who needs to go to therapy, not me.”

“I told you to shut up!”

Iwaizumi dodged around another towel flung with malicious intent, just as the door to the room opened. Kuroo walked in, his black hair flattened around his ears, almost touching his neck as he examined the scene, only wearing a towel around his waist.

Sighing, he made his way to his locker, a few to the right of Oikawa. “What are you two gaylords fighting about now?”

“We're not fighting,” Iwaizumi said at the same time Oikawa spurted out, “Tell him I don't need therapy!”

Kuroo rolled his eyes, rubbing a towel through his hair, fluffing it upwards to its usual weird shape. “Firstly, Iwaizumi, put a shirt on, you're making me look even scrawnier than I am and I don't need that blow to my ego. Secondly, both of you probably need therapy, from what I've heard. Problem solved.”

At Iwaizumi's and Oikawa's identical expressions, Kuroo smirked. “I know I'm a genius, there's really no need to lavish praise upon me, but I wouldn't stop you.”

Iwaizumi flipped him off, and Oikawa folded his arms over his chest, announcing, “You're a terrible problem solver.”

Dressing himself, Kuroo grinned at both of them, shrugging innocently. “True. It's in my nature to fan the flames, what can I say? Also Iwaizumi, your shirt still isn't on you.”

“Keep it off,” Oikawa told him as Iwaizumi reached towards his shirt, crumpled on the bench in the middle of the room.

“We have to go outside, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi pointed out, shuffling it on over his head.

“Or we could stay in here…” Oikawa began, stepping nearer to him with a wink, trailing his hand down the side of Iwaizumi's thigh. “And you could take off a lot more than your shirt.”

“Okay, bye,” Kuroo preconized, grabbing his bag and almost sprinting to the door.

Iwaizumi raised a hand as he left. “I'll see you soon.”

“‘Course. Make sure Oikawa can actually walk tomorrow, yeah? We kind of need him.”

Oikawa's cry of protest was shut out by the door closing behind him. “Hmph. Asshole.”

Iwaizumi's hands were catching his waist before he had even taken a breath, pressing him close as he kissed his cheek, lips travelling over his skin swiftly.

“Impatient, aren't we?” Oikawa teased, arms winding around his neck.

“Mm,” Iwaizumi hummed back. “Less insulting, more kissing.”

“Charming,” Oikawa commented, but a moment later his lips sought out Iwaizumi's.

Before long, his legs were slung tight around Iwaizumi's hips, his back plastered flat and hard against the lockers as Iwaizumi mouthed at any part of his exposed skin he could find. Oikawa was having a hard time keeping his eyes open, heavy lidded, cheeks flustered with the urgency building in his groin. And from how Iwaizumi was moulding his body against his, the desire was most definitely mutual.

They were so occupied that they didn't hear the door clicking open.

“I’d get off to this, but I’m straight,” Yaku deadpanned, covering his eyes with a small palm. “I just need to get into my locker, so move, for the love of all that’s holy.”

“Definitely not us,” Oikawa murmured thickly, smirking at him over Iwaizumi's shoulder. “Still think you're low-key bi, anyways.”

“Nope. Just get out of my way.”

Iwaizumi hoisted Oikawa up further into his waist, with an appreciative hum from Oikawa, and he shifted over a few steps, nodding to Yaku.

“Jesus, thank fuck,” Yaku muttered, sticking his key into the locker, perhaps more aggressively than necessary. “This isn't going to become a regular thing, is it?”

“Nah,” came Iwaizumi’s quiet reply, in between soft kisses of Oikawa's neck.

“Hey, don't say that for certain!” Oikawa protested, voice lightened as his fingers threaded through Iwaizumi's hair. “This is pretty nice.”

“Not for me,” Yaku deadpanned, slamming his locker door shut so forcefully Oikawa could feel the vibrations against his back. “Bye. Don't mess up the benches and do not have sex anywhere near my locker.”

“Can't promise anything,” Oikawa answered in a lilting, sing-song tone to Yaku’s back. “Who knows where this'll go-”

“We're not having sex here,” Iwaizumi interrupted.

Yaku breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Thank fuck. See you tomorrow, lads.”

Oikawa released a whine of disappointment, nails deliberately drawing down the back of Iwaizumi's neck as Yaku gratefully walked out of the room. “Really? I thought we had something going on here, I don't want to wait through the entire bus ride!”

“I said here,” Iwaizumi told him lowly. “I didn't mention the showers. Or even two lockers over. As long as we don't leave a mess, nobody will know.”

A slow smile spread on Oikawa's lips, feeling Iwaizumi's teeth latch carefully onto the underside of his jaw. “You're a devil in disguise, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi's fingers indented into the underside of Oikawa's thighs. “If you say so,” he whispered against his skin. His voice gave Oikawa shivers, tingling all the way down his spine.

“Everyone's gone for the day, right?” Iwaizumi questioned, and Oikawa felt a leap of anticipation in his crotch, mirrored in Iwaizumi's husky tone.

“Yeah, there's no need to worry,” Oikawa answered, squeezing his legs around Iwaizumi's waist. “The janitor won't be here for another few hours, too.”

“Perfect,” Iwaizumi murmured into the crook of Oikawa's neck. “Let your legs down for a sec.”

Reluctantly, Oikawa unfolded his legs, Iwaizumi's steady hands aiding him to the floor without falling.

“There,” Oikawa said as his socked feet touched cold tile. “Happy?”

“Hold on,” came the reply, as Iwaizumi bent over, palms slipping beneath his own waistband and tugging both his shorts and boxers completely down.

Oikawa arched an eyebrow, admiring the view. “Getting straight to it, I see.”

Iwaizumi finished yanking his shirt off over his head before giving him a look. “What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Oikawa replied airily, leaning back against the lockers and not even bothering to hide how his gaze traced Iwaizumi’s naked form. “You're just a very...unique person.”

“Why does that sound like it was supposed to be an insult?”

Oikawa laughed, putting an arm around Iwaizumi's neck and pulling him in. “Probably because it was, but, me being the amazing person I am, I decided to be kind.”

“Just get undressed already,” Iwaizumi said, rolling his eyes.

Oikawa deliberately bit his lower lip, watching Iwaizumi’s gaze. “Maybe I want you to undress me,” he spoke, quiet, sultry, seductive.

The sight of Iwaizumi's pupils dilating was the most satisfying thing he'd seen all day. Perhaps excluding Iwaizumi's penis.

He felt Iwaizumi's hand grasp onto the side of his hip, holding him close as his other hand grabbed the back neckline of Oikawa's t-shirt, navigating it off one-handed. Oikawa, needless to say, got a mouthful and faceful of smushed-up, sweaty material.

“Nope,” he spat out as soon as he could. “Nope. That is not what I imagined at all and you are mad to try and attempt that with one hand, I'm taking my pants off myself, thank you very much.”

Iwaizumi looked crestfallen, but he nodded and stepped away obediently as Oikawa kicked the clothing off of the lower half of his body.

“You know what? I forgive you, because you've only undressed women before, apart from that one time with me, and the fact you haven't been in a relationship for years. One of these days I'm going to undress you and teach you how to properly undress someone sexily, okay? It's a valuable life skill everyone needs to know, along with how to conduct a strip tease. Got it?”

“Mm-hm,” was Iwaizumi's only response as he crushed Oikawa up against the lockers again, fingers slipping through his dark caramel hair as he drew him into a hard kiss.

Oikawa was pretty sure he hadn't heard a word he'd said, but now he couldn't recall what he'd said either. He didn't particularly care.

Oikawa's hips grated against Iwaizumi's, almost of their own bidding while he indulged in the passionate kiss, fingernails scraping across Iwaizumi's shoulder blades. His breathing hitched as Iwaizumi's arm looped underneath one of his legs, his forearm crossing underneath his right knee firmly.

“Hold on,” Oikawa gasped out, breathlessly reaching for his own locker, a few to the left, praying he'd left it open. His fingers caught on an edge and it swung open easily.

Iwaizumi leaned over, rustling through the contents hastily, eyebrows furrowing together. “You really keep this stuff at work?”

Oikawa shrugged, licking over his swollen lips. “Why not? It's coming in handy now, isn't it?”

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows raised as he produced a little plastic bottle of lube and a condom, a tiny bit impressed despite himself. “You've barely been back a week and you've already stocked here?”

“I've been dating you for that entire week,” Oikawa reminded him with a smile. “If you'd bothered to have checked my jacket pockets you'd find the exact same thing. I never go anywhere unprepared.”

Iwaizumi cracked a sideways smile in response, popping open the bottle and spreading it on his fingers. “I suppose I should be grateful for that.”

“You should be very grateful!” Oikawa clarified, failing to keep indignation in his voice when Iwaizumi’s face drew nearer again.

“I am,” Iwaizumi assured him, his non-lubed hand circling Oikawa's face, then kissing him gently, tongue running along his lip.

Iwaizumi pulled back, half-smiled at Oikawa, then, without warning, dropped to his knees in front of him. Oikawa forgot how to breathe. He regained his air a few seconds later with a sharp gasp, pleasure rolling through him, his slender fingers clinging to Iwaizumi's hair.

“Hajime…”

He couldn't help himself from staring downwards, a quiet, whimpering moan flitting past his lips at the sight. Pupils dilating, his eyes met Iwaizumi's, and he swallowed hard, taking his fingernails down his scalp. One hand braced against Oikawa’s hip, Iwaizumi sunk down fully, and Oikawa uttered a noise he didn't know he could make.

A few minutes later, Iwaizumi rose up from his knees and cleaned around his mouth with the back of his hand, frowning at Oikawa’s expression. “What?”

“I just…” Oikawa faltered, his mouth dry. “I didn't think you'd do that.”

“Why not? I want you to feel good too, you know.”

Oikawa drew an arm around Iwaizumi's shoulders and tugged him in, a smirk slinging over his lips. “You spoil me, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi kissed him then, the tinge of Oikawa still fresh on his lips. “I don't mind,” he whispered, and proceeded to kiss him even deeper.

Oikawa felt his hand encircle his knee, once again cautiously lifting it up to round Iwaizumi's hip.

“Relax,” Iwaizumi breathed into the kiss, his hand falling down to between Oikawa's thighs.

Oikawa couldn't help a tremor going through him as Iwaizumi gradually eased him open, all the time quietly murmuring against his neck. Iwaizumi's fingers felt coarse, the skin worn and beaten from harsh physical work, and so, it still amazed him how softly he touched him. Perhaps the only person to treat Oikawa so carefully.

He was dropped back into reality by Iwaizumi's voice.

“Think you're ready?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa said, his voice raspy. He cleared his throat and repeated himself, this time more normally. “I am.”

Of course Iwaizumi had to kiss him while he tenderly pushed up into him. Of course he did. Oikawa smiled at that. Closing his eyes, Oikawa did his best to relax, fingernails sketching red lines down the canvas of Iwaizumi's back as they kissed, deep and passionate.  

Oikawa thought of an ex he had, someone who'd told him that they loved him a month into the relationship. He also thought of when they said it, in a hoarse whisper in his ear as their hand slid into his pants. He hadn't said it back, but they hadn't seemed to care. They'd fucked anyways.

He was brought back to the present by Iwaizumi's roughened lips, moving soft and gentle against his, accompanied by a little nip at his lower lip. Hajime was moving slow and careful, waiting for Oikawa to adjust. He wasn't saying anything, but Oikawa thought that there was something a lot more meaningful than “I love you,” wrapped up in his actions.

His grip on Iwaizumi's hair tightened at the thought, and he felt Iwaizumi hesitate.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Oikawa reassured him with a smile, placing a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “You can speed up whenever you like, you know. You act so afraid of hurting me the whole time.”

Iwaizumi glanced away, mumbling something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Iwaizumi answered, shaking his head lightly, then paused briefly, admitting, “I am afraid of hurting you, the position isn't exactly the best. I want you to be entirely comfortable, alright?”

Oikawa gave out a little snort. “I'm with you. Of course I'm comfortable. Silly question, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi's gaze softened, pressing his forehead against Oikawa's with a cozy intimacy that made Oikawa's already rushing heart bang even faster. Colour flushed his cheeks at the same time Iwaizumi smoothly drove up and in further, the back of Oikawa's head straining against the metal of the lockers as his back arched, letting out a quiet gasp.

Iwaizumi mouthed at his extended neck, love bruises blooming beneath his lips. Moaning rose to Oikawa's ears, and he really wasn't sure if it was his or Hajime’s. His heel dug into Iwaizumi's lower back, the cold metal dragging and biting against his shoulder-blades with every movement, scraping his skin a bit but he didn't care, couldn't focus on any other single thing but the warmth of Iwaizumi’s body against him, in him.

To Oikawa, it lasted for far too short a time, nowhere near long enough to satisfy him utterly (through no fault of Iwaizumi's), despite feeling fully contented. He wanted more. He wanted to feel how naturally Iwaizumi’s body slotted between his thighs for longer.

“Hajime…”

Iwaizumi glanced up from shimmying into his boxers. “Yeah?”

“You know how I'm a demanding person?”

Iwaizumi squinted at him, elastic snapping shut against his hips. “Yeah….”

“Are you up for another round when we get back to Mattsun and Makki’s place?” Oikawa asked straight out, coupling it with a wink.

“What, do you want to top or something?”

Iwaizumi's bluntness was always refreshing, no matter how longer Oikawa had been around him.

“No! I mean, I do, but that isn't the whole reason - come on Hajime, I'm a guy in my early twenties, what do you expect?”

“Fair enough,” Iwaizumi commented, grabbing Oikawa's clothes from the heap on the floor. “I'm the same too, why'd you think I couldn't wait until we got back?”

Oikawa let out a soft laugh, catching the clothing Iwaizumi chucked over to him. “I hope you're up to it.”

“Are you trying to insult me? If I was you I'd try a different approach,” Iwaizumi advised, putting on his pants. “I saw how you looked, you know. You appeared plenty satisfied. I think you should be asking yourself that question.”

Oikawa's lips curled up into a coy smile as he slipped into his boxers. “You have me there.”

Iwaizumi finished dressing, Oikawa unable to hold back a smirk at the red paths strewn all over his back before his t-shirt covered it.

“What're you smirking at?” Iwaizumi questioned, turning back around just in time to catch a glimpse of his smug expression.

“Does your back hurt, by any chance?”

Iwaizumi gave him an unimpressed look. “I could ask the same about your neck.”

Oikawa’s hand raised to touch the stinging skin self-consciously, wondering if they were easily visible.

“There isn't that many of them. Stop looking so worried,” Iwaizumi sighed out. “I'll go easy next time.”

“Noo, I'm not worried about people seeing them… it's just weird, being marked like this.”

Iwaizumi frowned, stepping forward. “Do you want me to stop?”

Oikawa shook his head firmly. “Definitely not.”

He felt Iwaizumi's fingers deftly circle the dark bruises, hissing a little at the sensitivity of them.

“I think…” Oikawa hesitated, and Iwaizumi's thumb lightly caressed down his throat. “I think it's because I'm used to quick flings. It's only sinking in now that you're staying, sex or no sex.”

“You got that right,” Iwaizumi murmured, giving him a swift peck on the lips. “Now hurry up and get dressed, it's getting late and I'm hungry.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes, but yanked on his pants quickly. “And you say I'm the demanding one.”

“I'm not demanding, you're just slow. Hurry up, for fuck’s sake. We'll miss the bus.”

Oikawa dredged out an exaggerated sigh, but he did make an effort to put back on his clothes just a little quicker. Iwaizumi glanced up from his phone just as he was slipping his gearbag back over his head.

“You ready?”

“Born ready,” Oikawa responded automatically.

“If you were born ready, then why did I have to wait?” Iwaizumi shot back, to which Oikawa stuck out his tongue, making sure to stride out of the room in front of him.

“I was ready until you kissed me,” he defended himself.

“Really?” Iwaizumi asked flatly, following him out into the hallway. “That's all the defence you have?”

“Yes! You distracted me, you with your lips and hands and damn penis-”

Iwaizumi reached over and covered Oikawa's mouth with his hand, cheeks colouring. “Alright, that's enough. I get the idea.”

Oikawa spoke, but his words were indistinguishable from the traffic noise as they stepped outside, and only served to get saliva all over Iwaizumi's hand. He withdrew it sharply, wiping it on his pants.

“What?”

“Does that mean I win the argument?” Oikawa inquired innocently, bumping his shoulder against Iwaizumi's as they walked towards the bus stop.

“No. I could argue that you distracted me first,” Iwaizumi countered. “You did make the first move, after all.”

“You're the one doing all the distracting!” Oikawa protested, shoving at Iwaizumi's shoulder. “You're like… existing and stuff. It's not fair!”

He let out a short cough, somehow managing to make it sound offended. Iwaizumi frowned, his hands resting idly in the depths of his pockets, shoulders back and settled.

“So you're accusing me of… existing? I don't think I can do anything about that.”

“Yes you can!” Oikawa insisted, gesturing to Iwaizumi's solid form. “Tone it down a little, and maybe I wouldn't have the urge to jump you every five seconds. It's your own fault, really.”

“Somehow you make compliments sound like insults,” Iwaizumi deadpanned as they reached the bus stop. “And how exactly am I supposed to ‘tone my existence down?’”

Oikawa sat down on the bench, shifting his bag to balance on his thighs, ripping the zip open and searching through it. “I don't know, it's not my problem to take care of,” he replied offhandedly, waving a hand in the direction of Iwaizumi. “You're reasonably intelligent, you'll figure something out.”

“Thanks, I guess?”

Iwaizumi folded himself down beside Oikawa as he pulled out a fresh pack, plucking one out and tossing the pack back in. He glanced over at Iwaizumi, who sighed and begrudgingly produced a lighter. Oikawa didn't even try to take it from him, the lazy fucker - he simply leaned his shoulder into Iwaizumi’s and held the cigarette out expectantly. And because Iwaizumi's chest was already tight from the contact, he flicked his thumb and lit it up for him.

Oikawa inclined his head in thanks, straightening up again, eyes closing as he inhaled deeply. His lips were pursed around the end, his face not quite relaxed, a bit strained at the edges of his expression, but there was some sort of peace there, some sort that made Iwaizumi smile. Maybe he couldn't find contentment in himself, but he sure as hell could find it in Oikawa.

He hoped Oikawa could find the same in him, the identical grounding sensation, stronger than gravity.

Oikawa's eyes opened, and his gaze drifted over to Iwaizumi, as grey smoke spilled out of his mouth. “What?”

“Nothing,” Iwaizumi answered, and grasped Oikawa's hand in his.

\---

The bus ride back wasn't any easier.

“It's going to take time,” Oikawa told him softly, his arm around Iwaizumi's shoulders as they walked down the street.

The queasiness in Iwaizumi's limbs still felt fresh, and he shook his head silently.

“It won't go away on its own,” Oikawa pointed out gently, and Iwaizumi knew he was right, but it was still awful, feeling every jerky lunge underneath his feet. He'd rather rely on his own two legs to get him places, thank you very much.

Iwaizumi heaved a sigh, rubbing his damp hands down his face. “I know. I'll get used it, eventually.”

They walked a couple of steps more, people streaming around them, and Iwaizumi suddenly realised how busy the street was.

He deliberately eased Oikawa's arm from around his shoulders, offering, “Just in case someone recognises you,” as an explanation.

Oikawa didn't like it, he could see that much from his put-out expression, so Iwaizumi pushed further.

“You don't need any unwanted media attention. You've done pretty well so far in the league, yeah?”

Oikawa nodded.

“The more successful you are the more they'll focus on you. And you probably don't want your parents finding out about us from a gossip magazine.”

Oikawa nodded again, his lips stiff. “Or at all.”

This time it was Iwaizumi who nodded, wordless.

\-----

“We're back,” Oikawa announced, immediately chucking his bag into the hallway.

“Fucking pick that shit up or I'm kicking you out,” came Hanamaki’s voice from the sitting room.

“I'd like to see you try,” Oikawa retorted back, halting and glowering adamantly at the bag for a moment. “But fine. I hope you appreciate my amazingness,” he called back, picking it up again.

“That isn't a word, and you only didn't dump your bag in an inconvenient spot, so shut up.”

“He has a point,” Iwaizumi admitted, who Oikawa promptly shot a glare back at.

“This isn't your conversation, Hajime. Butt out,” he retorted as he strutted into the kitchen, flinging his gym bag directly at Mattsun, who was reclining on a nearby stool, minding his own business.

“What did I do?” Matsukawa questioned as the bag rebounded off of his arms and splattered, deflated, onto the floor in front of him. “Or rather, what did you find out that I did? Because I probably did something. What was it? I want to be reminded of my genius.”

Sighing, Oikawa rolled his eyes and yanked him forwards, completely off the stool. He stumbled a step before Iwaizumi steadied him, sending eye-daggers in Oikawa's direction.

“Literally, why the fuck are you picking on me?!” Matsukawa demanded as Oikawa settled himself into the seat, then proceeded to produce a nail file.

“No reason, really,” was his breezy answer. “I just know that Makki’s in a bad mood and I wanted a stool so I had to bully you instead. My condolences.”

“Issei, come on,” Hanamaki spoke up, pouring himself a cup of milk casually. “You know why he's acting like this.”

Matsukawa looked at him for a second, and Hanamaki continued to pour milk, straight into his mouth. Oikawa's expression creased up into one of utter disgust, and Iwaizumi felt mildly uncomfortable watching, so he glanced away.

“Oh,” was what came out of Matsukawa’s mouth.

“In any case, Oiks, get your stinky gym clothes out of my kitchen,” Hanamaki demanded, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder.

Oikawa hopped down from his stool, pulling a face. “God, since when did you become my mom too?”

“Since you became a literal child. Go.”

As Oikawa left, Hanamaki shared a look with Matsukawa, who nodded surely. Iwaizumi stood there, confused and highly suspicious.

“I have sweaty clothes too, I think I'll sort them out now.”

“Nope, I've got it,” Hanamaki immediately said, snatching the bag from Iwaizumi and striding out the door. “I need to chat with Oikawa.”

“Why?”

Iwaizumi's question fell short, Hanamaki’s light strawberry hair already receding down the corridor.

“Don't worry about that,” Matsukawa told him, springing back up onto the stool. He sat forwards, stepping his fingers with his elbows on his knees, and Iwaizumi felt like he was about to be interrogated.

“So,” Mattsun started, with an edge to his voice which instantly made Iwaizumi even more suspicious. “You got any...news?”

“Nope. Trained, came home.”

“Are you sure that was the only ‘coming’ you did? Coming home?”

Iwaizumi looked flatly at Matsukawa, who had on a dead straight face. Neither of them spoke for a good twenty seconds.

“What-” Iwaizumi's voice was dangerously calm. “-was the bet this time?”

Mattsun held up his hands. “No bet, just interested in your life, buddy.”

“You're not. And don't call me buddy.”

“Gotcha, buds. And I totally am. Want to inform me of every detail of your day? Anything... sticky come up?”

Iwaizumi's lips twitched, whether with amusement or annoyance, he didn't know. “No,” he maintained. “Nothing came up.”

“Stop lying. Oiks only acts like that after he's gotten some dick.”

Iwaizumi blinked. “The whole asshole-confidence thing?”

“Precisely! Now you're getting it, grasshopper. So, please tell me it was your dick otherwise we're going to have a very awkward conversation on our hands.”

Iwaizumi heaved a sigh. “Fine. We had sex.”

Matsukawa raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. “That's not enough information. I gotta win this bet, Iwa-kun. Do you know what's at stake here?”

“I don't want to kn-”

“Butt plugs, Iwaizumi. Butt plugs. And I'm getting mine, not his oddly shaped shit. So, tell me -” here he wriggled his eyebrows, impressively fast, “-did Ushijima walk in on you with your dong up his arse or not?”

“Dear Christ,” Iwaizumi groaned, covering his face with his palms. “No! What sort of gross… you two are disgusting and I'm leaving.”

“Ha! Knew it,” Matsukawa gloated, linking his fingers behind his head. “Takahiro’s gonna hate this.”

“Along with the rest of us,” Iwaizumi muttered, as he slipped out of the room, leaving Matsukawa grinning to himself.

“Yeah,” he said to himself. “We really should've made that bet.”

\---

 **mastuwanker** :  confirmed: unfortunately ushijima was not stupid enough to walk in on iwa and oiks doing it

 **handjobmakki** : the fuck kind of question is that

 **handjobmakki** : this is why they hate us issei

 **mastuwanker** : weren't you curious tho

 **handjobmakki** : ……………..

 **mastuwanker** : that's what I thought

\---

 **pinkweed:** what if instead of wings birds had arms but only from the elbow downwards and to fly they just flapped them around really really fast

 **No Stupid Nickname Or I’ll Punch You:** Go to sleep.

 **pinkweed:** y is oiks dating you you're mean

 **bb:** penis

 **pinkweed:** oh yeah

 **gay:** shut up both of you

\---

The night was soft. Oikawa brushed aside the curtain and gazed out into the street, the dusty yellow of streetlamps on pavements.

He stood there for a moment before Iwaizumi's grouch came from the bed.

“Get back here. I'm tired and you're not keeping me awake.”

“Any longer than I already did?” Oikawa suggested slyly, bending down to sweep up a pair of boxers from the floor. Who knew, feeling Iwaizumi’s legs wrapped around his waist was just as satisfying as Iwaizumi being in between his.

“Shut up. I'm too tired to think of a proper response,” came Iwaizumi's groan, and an arm sleepily emerged from the covers, reaching for Oikawa. “Just come over here.”

“Did I really wear you out that much?” Oikawa teased, but he strode over and slipped in beside Iwaizumi, shoulders pressing together.

“‘Course not,” Iwaizumi mumbled, slinging an arm around Oikawa's waist. “It'd take a lot more than that for me to get exhausted. I'm insulted.”

Smiling faintly, Oikawa curled towards him, closing his eyes in fond comfort. “You have to defend your manhood, don't you?”

“Obviously,” Iwaizumi murmured, touching their foreheads together. “Now sleep, for the love of fuck.”

“Fine, grumpy,” Oikawa sighed out, shifting around to get into that perfect slumbering position.

He tried to go to sleep, he really did. But the corners of his mouth kept pulling downwards and his mind kept nagging him, unrest threatening to plague his dreams.

“Hajime?”

Iwaizumi grunted, indicating his consciousness and unwillingness to speak.

“Makki did actually have something to talk to me about earlier.”

Oikawa's voice trembled a fraction, nervousness and worry haunting the edges of his tone.

One of Iwaizumi's eyes cracked open, gazing blearily at Oikawa. “Go on.”

“We can't stay here for much longer,” Oikawa blurted out. “Mattsun’s probably getting a promotion and they're going to have to move, even further away from where you and I work. They're moving next month.”

Iwaizumi's hand clasped the back of Oikawa's neck warmly as he shut his eye again, nodding his thanks.

“Don't let that keep you up. We’ll figure it out. There's always Kuroo to fall back on.”

Oikawa wrinkled up his nose.

Iwaizumi hesitated, and without opening his eyes, said, “And stop making that face. He's a decent guy.”

“To you maybe,” retorted Oikawa, and Iwaizumi gave a gentle chuckle. “Whatever. Point is, we’ll be fine. Stop worrying.”

Oikawa leaned his forehead against Iwaizumi's, trying to imagine what it was like, having all that sureness and courage. “Thank you,” he breathed out, and Iwaizumi smiled gently.

“Now go to sleep.”

“Sure will, bossy.”

\---

Iwaizumi woke to the sound of coughing.

Oh, fuck.

Oikawa was sitting at the edge of the bed, keeled over, and coughing repeatedly, each one like a blow to his stomach. Iwaizumi drew a hand back through his hair, watching as Oikawa caught his breath. His skin was glossy, and if Iwaizumi squinted through his sleep-rimmed eyes, he was fairly certain he could see him trembling ever so slightly.

“You're not going to work today,” Iwaizumi told him, reaching over to the bedside table to pick up his phone. “I'm texting Yaku.”

Oikawa, startled, immediately twisted around, shaking his head. “Don't do that! I'm fine, just clearing out a little dust-”

His own throat cut him off, spluttering out another abrupt cough as he turned away again, covering his mouth with his palm. Iwaizumi pulled his legs out of the sheets, shifting over to kneel beside him, and placed a hand on his damp forehead. Oikawa fell quiet, a tremor going through his body at Iwaizumi's burning cold skin.

“You're not going anywhere but bed,” Iwaizumi informed him firmly, withdrawing his hand.

Oikawa's only protest was a weak shaking of his head, and then Iwaizumi knew he must've felt really awful.

“Come on,” he prompted, gently guiding Oikawa back into the middle of the bed. “I'll get you some breakfast, if you feel up to eating. Then I have to go to work, but Matsukawa and Hanamaki will look after you, alright?”

Oikawa went to answer, but instead another cough welled up out of him, shaking his body as Iwaizumi draped the covers over his shoulders.

“Better tell them to get you some cough medicine too,” Iwaizumi said, mostly to himself.

“Hajime, I can't stay in bed all day - you need the money and I need to practice so I can be on the court for as long as possible-”

Oikawa barely managed to finish his point, hacking and curling up under the covers. He released a whine of frustration, to which Iwaizumi rubbed his shoulder assuringly.

“I'm working too, it'll be fine. Don't worry and don't talk, even though I know that'll be difficult for you.”

“I'm taking offence at-”

Iwaizumi waited while Oikawa apparently tried to cough up every single internal organ he had.

“- fuck! I hate this!” Oikawa complained loudly. “I can't speak or talk-”

Iwaizumi arched an eyebrow. “Speak or talk?”

Oikawa fell silent, huffily turning into his other side. “I may be a little sick.”

“You are,” Iwaizumi reaffirmed, dressing quickly. “Stay in bed or the couch, but just rest, alright? Sleep if you can, you always need that.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Oikawa groaned back, folding himself into an even smaller ball. “I want to die.”

“Stop exaggerating. You'll get over it in a few days, probably,” Iwaizumi reminded him, shimmying down into his loose jeans.

“Will I, though? What if I don't? Then you'll be sorry for belittling my suffering,” Oikawa sniffed out, spotted by snatches of coughing here and there.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and tied off his shoes, standing up. “I wish you lost your voice instead so you couldn't bitch.”

“It'd take a lot more than losing my voice to stop my bitching, you naive little man. One time Mattsun and Makki tried to gag me to get me to shut up, and that didn't work either.”

Iwaizumi raised his eyebrows, stepping over to softly brush back some defiant strands of Oikawa's bedhair from his face. “That's a bit extreme.”

“I was probably being super annoying anyways,” Oikawa pointed out, his gaze shifting away from Iwaizumi's eyes. “Now go and tell those two fuckers to get me breakfast.”

“Alright, but I'll actually phrase it nicely so they won't let you starve,” Iwaizumi replied, moving away with one last pat of Oikawa's head. “I should be back around five or so.”

“Ugh, what am I supposed to do until then?” Oikawa groaned. “Mattsun and Makki don't even have any good booze.”

Stopping by the doorway, Iwaizumi gave him a sharp look, to which Oikawa offered him a placid smile.

“I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Obviously.”

“Glad to hear that.”

“You know what, I'm just gonna go on grindr and catfish fuckboys,” Oikawa decided, pulling out his phone. “Did you know that I have an outstanding offer of sex from this thirty seven year old barber? I just went to have my hair cut and then he texted me on facebook about how he'd like to bring me upstairs and fuck me.”

Iwaizumi frowned, one hand resting on the doorframe. “What?”

“What part of that wasn't understandable? I do have the looks of a demigod, after all,” Oikawa huffed out, barely able to finish before a cough struck his throat. “I must be the descendent of the Greek God of perfectly proportional facial features or something.”

“Yeah, but stuff like that doesn't just usually happen.”

“Happens to me because I'm fucking gorgeous.”

Throwing his eyes up to heaven in exasperation, Iwaizumi started to move out into the hallway.

“You know it's true,” Oikawa called out after him, ignoring the itching in his throat. “You're not denying it either!”

“Fuck off,” was the distant response. “You're not _that_ good-looking.”

Oikawa huffed, smiling to himself as he nestled below the warm covers. “So he has to admit that I am good-looking.”

\--

Iwaizumi returned a few minutes later with a drink.

“Here,” he said, setting it down by Oikawa’s bedside. “I dissolved some honey in it so it'll hopefully help soothe your throat until they can get cough syrup.”

Oikawa groggily lifted his head, angled it over his shoulder, and blinked his gratitude. “Thanks, babe.”

“No problem, _darling_ ,” Iwaizumi responded, tone heavily weighed down with sarcasm.

He wasn't sure if Oikawa caught it - he simply hummed, nuzzling down into the pillow as he stifled a few soft coughs. Iwaizumi touched his shoulder, leaning over to press a kiss to his temple.

“I have to get to work, but I'll be back later. Promise me you'll rest.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“You're such a brat.”

\----

 **the perfect one:** hey

 **❤️iwa❤️:** Hello? Are you that bored?

 **the perfect one:** yes.

 **❤️iwa❤️:** Well, I'm working. Read a book or something.

[the perfect one sent a photo]

 

Iwaizumi might've made a noise deep in his throat, hastily glancing around and locking his phone. He held his breath, checking that nobody was near him or heard him or was taking any notice of him or anything, really. Releasing his breath, Iwaizumi swallowed hard, and typed in his passcode.

It was difficult to focus on the keyboard, to say the least.

 

 **❤️iwa❤️:** Or… you could send me that, I guess.

 

What he was really thinking was that maybe if more guys looked like Oikawa did he would've realised his sexuality much sooner. He could imagine how it felt to have that body pressed hard to his, imagine himself straddling the width of those hips, almost feel Oikawa's skin burning against his, almost see the pink flush appearing on Oikawa's cheeks.

He shook his head. Concentrate.

 

 **the perfect one:** you're welcome xxx

 **the perfect one:** enjoy it it's my grindr profile pic well the top half anyways

 **the perfect one:** do you want another I am incredibly bored. like, it should be illegal to reach this stage of boredom.

 

Iwaizumi's thumb hovered over the keypad, hesitant. He was at work, for god’s sake - this was like a shallow plot to a pop song, and yet he still wanted to say yes.

 

 **❤️iwa❤️:** That's your profile picture?

 **the perfect one:** how else am I supposed to successfully catfish

 **the perfect one:** do you know anything at all about grinder

 **the perfect one:** and I noticed you didn't answer my question ;) tempted, hajime?

 **❤️iwa❤️:** …………….

 **the perfect one:** mmm hmm that looks like a yes to me

 **the perfect one:** to be specific, a “yes but I don't want to corrupt my morals by asking my bf to send hot pics of himself to me at work,” am I right or am I right

 

Iwaizumi's fingers scratched some dirt nervously from his overalls. Perceptive asshole.

 

 **the perfect one:** you know what I'm just gonna take the choice away from you

 **the perfect one:** as long as nobody looks at your phone or your crotch you're good

[the perfect one sent a photo]

[the perfect one sent a photo]

 

Iwaizumi bit his lip, glancing down at them and then looking away briefly, then staring at them again. It kind of pissed him off how Oikawa knew exactly how attractive he was, but on the flip side...he did get these because of Oikawa's ego and confidence.

 **❤️iwa❤️:** Look, thanks and all, but cars aren't going to get fixed if I go and jerk off in the bathroom.

 **the perfect one:** awwww you actually complimented me ❤️ you're so cute and romantic ❤️

 **❤️iwa❤️:** I have to get back to work.

 **the perfect one:** you're no fun :((

[the perfect one sent a photo]

 

Oh, _fuck_.

 

 **❤️iwa❤️:** Tooru, I swear.

 **the perfect one:** im not hearing a ‘stop it’

[the perfect one sent a photo]

 

Oikawa apparently had a myriad of different poses already lined up, because this was ridiculous.

“Something interesting on your phone, Iwaizumi?”

Iwaizumi slammed his phone face down onto the mat he was sitting so fast it made a sharp, abrupt noise. He glanced up, and there was Kiyoko, hair pulled back, loose overalls filthy, a rag in her hands, idly cleaning off the grease.

He went a deep, glaring red.

“Not really.”

“I don't mind the occasional call during work, but I’m afraid those brake pads need replacing today,” she told him, not unkindly, but firmly, in her soft voice.

Shoving his phone deep into his pocket, Iwaizumi nodded, chewing on his lower lip. “Yeah, sorry. It won't happen again.”

“Thanks, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi hissed out a breath of relief as she walked away, heat still flaring in his cheeks. He could feel his phone vibrating against his thigh as he shifted into a better position to actually do some work, but fuck it. He'd told Oikawa he needed to work.

And he had a break in a couple of hours, too. He could look then.

\---

The trip home seemed to take longer than usual.

Iwaizumi’s foot tapped against the floor of the elevator, his eyes tracing the wired ceiling, wondering if Oikawa had eaten enough today. If he was being honest with himself, he was glad that Mastukawa and Hanamaki kept their house clear of alcohol - Iwaizumi was still unsure how much Oikawa had relied on it, and despite Oikawa’s promises, he knew firsthand that it required a lot more than a promise to just quit drinking.

It didn't exactly work like that.

“Tooru?” Iwaizumi asked, frowning as he took in the empty bedroom.

He lay a hand on the mattress, thinking that maybe he had just nipped out to go to the toilet. Stone cold, as ever he was never there. Iwaizumi’s frown deepened, and he skirted out into the hall, checking the bathroom as he passed anyway.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he snatched it out swiftly, expecting an explanation for Oikawa’s absence. Instead, Kuroo’s number blinked back at him from the screen, and he dawdled a moment, thumb hovering. He was feeling a bit anxious about Oikawa, and he'd like to find him first...but there was a possibility Kuroo knew about him, wasn't there? They might (very vocally) claim to despise each other, but they did train together and there was a chance if something happened to Oikawa, Kuroo would know about it, wasn't there?

Iwaizumi pressed accept, and Kuroo’s smooth voice flowed out of the speakers.

“Hey, Iwaizumi, mate. I got good news for you.”

“About Oikawa?”

“What? No,” Kuroo replied, sounding exasperated. “Not everything revolves around that twatface, don't tell me he's started to make you think that everything is about him too.”

Iwaizumi’s chest sunk, confused. Where was he?

“What is it then?”

“Coach says you can join us next time for practice if you want, no shitfaces, breaking in or jumping across rooftops required. You can just stroll right on in.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” Iwaizumi responded absently, glancing into Mastukawa and Hanamaki’s vacant bedroom. “That’s great, can I ring you back later?”

He could sense Kuroo’s uncertainty, picturing his skeptical, raised eyebrows perfectly.

“Uh, Iwaizumi? You just got invited to train with the _National Team._ I know you're trying to keep up the image of masculinity and coolness and all, but can you try to muster up a little bit of excitement?” Kuroo deadpanned.

“Sorry, I’m kind of occupied right now,” was Iwaizumi's distant answer as he walked into the kitchen, seeing Matsukawa and Hanamaki stooped over the table. “I'll ring you back later, I swear.”

He hung up before Kuroo could say anything else, worry starting to form in his chest. Oikawa needed to rest, and stop pushing himself, cease doing shit like this.

“Oh hey,” Matsukawa greeted him calmly, staring down at the cards splayed in his hands. “Want to join our game?”

“Yo,” Hanamaki said, plopping down another card. “What's good?”

"Hold on, where's Tooru?" Iwaizumi questioned, glancing around the kitchen as if Oikawa was going to pop out of a cabinet somehow. "He's sick, he shouldn't be out."   


"What do you mean? Isn't he in his room?"   


"Nope."   


Iwaizumi's hands began to fidget nervously with his pockets, nails scratching against the hems.

  
"Bathroom? Maybe he's constipated," Makki suggested, tossing down another card.   


Iwaizumi eyed the card game on the table surface for a moment. Snap. Of course. "What do you two do all day?"   


"I work nights at this hotel as a bartender and he does jack shit," was Mattsun's offhand response as he flung down a card.   


"Hey, I got Oiks his shitty cough syrup and made dinner for you and wiped your stray piss off the toilet," Makki drawled out. "Won't be doing that next time, seeing how much I'm appreciated around here."   


"Snap!"   


Mattsun's hand slammed down onto the table, startling Iwaizumi just the slightest bit. The worry was beginning to become uncomfortable, building up on top of the unease on his chest. Mattsun raked in his cards with a wise-cracker grin as Makki groaned out his frustration, sparing a glimpse at Iwaizumi.   


"Don't look so worried. Worst case, he'll infect a few unsuspecting people, and that'll be that."

  
"I dunno," Mattsun added, tossing down a card. "He goes a bit loopy when he's on medication."   


Iwaizumi frowned, Mattsun's words doing nothing to relieve the pressure in his chest. "Loopy how?"   


"Y'know, the usual. Touchy-feely, general spacing out, scribbling stuff about aliens on the wall, spontaneously bursting into tears over a split hot chocolate -"  


"He does that anyway," Makki interrupted, and Mattsun nodded wisely in agreement. "That he does. But you get the idea."   


"He's not outside like that, is he?"   


Both of them shrugged, then hesitated.   
"Oh, shit," Matsukawa cursed, abandoning his cards and jolting up from his seat. "I hadn't thought of that."   


"Why the fuck is he out of his room anyway?" Makki demanded, slipping on a jacket hastily. "He doesn't need anything! We even left the damn cough syrup in there so he wouldn't have to move.”

"It's half-high Oiks, who knows what the shit he's thinking of," Matsukawa answered, grabbing Iwaizumi by the shirt and hauling him out into the hallway. "You go on foot, try and guess where he'd go. Takahiro and I will go in the car, scout the streets within walking distance. Got that?"   


Iwaizumi nodded, feeling the soft, fearful beats of his heart underneath his tongue. "Got you."   


"We'll find him," Mattsun promised, swinging open the door. "He may be an idiot, but he's our idiot to take care of."  


"Great job on that," Iwaizumi muttered.   


"Oi. We're not babysitters. He's a grown ass man, Iwaizumi."

“He's barely twenty-three, he's not fully grown up yet,” Iwaizumi insisted, grabbing his jacket and hastily yanking the sleeves over his arms. It was a slight bit tight, and on a quick inspection it was the one Oikawa had given him on the hospital rooftop, the one he still hadn't officially given back yet. Of course it was.

“You coming or you just going to stare at that jacket like a moron?”

“Yeah, coming,” Iwaizumi replied, mouth dry as they headed out the front door.

\--

There. He's there.

Iwaizumi had never quite experienced relief like this - he suspected ascension into the heavens might have the same effect on his chest. Oikawa’s grin was wide, almost too goofy and carefree, plastic bags swinging from his elbows as he stepped out of the shop across the street, a little up from where Iwaizumi was standing.

Pulling out his phone, Iwaizumi fired off a quick text to Matsukawa, just letting him know he'd found him. He was lucky he'd spotted him - the traffic was swift and thick, he could've easily been masked by a car when Iwaizumi had looked.

Stuffing it back into his pocket, Iwaizumi glanced around, and thankfully Oikawa was still there, no longer exchanging pleasantries with the cashier, just loitering outside, his tall frame folded over to rifle through his purchases.

“Tooru!” Iwaizumi called out, loudly enough to be heard over the traffic, and Oikawa didn't move.

Squinting, Iwaizumi noticed that he had wires diving underneath his casual t-shirt, white buds in his ears, and his lips flexing around lyrics only he could hear. Iwaizumi sighed, rubbing a hand around his neck. Of course.

Oikawa's hand clasped over his mouth as he straightened, shoulders trembling with the effort of keeping the coughing fit inside. Well, that's what Iwaizumi assumed, until he bent over again and a thin trail of liquid spewed to the ground.

Fucking damn it, Iwaizumi thought as he observed him blearily wipe his lips. He took too much of it, didn't he?

Now very anxious to get to him, Iwaizumi glanced left and right, seeing a break in the near-constant stream coming up.

“Oh! Iwa-chaaaaaan!”

Looking back at Oikawa, who was waving stupidly across at him, Iwaizumi raised his hand in greeting. Oikawa gathered up his bags and stepped forwards with a large smile, an unsteady lilt in his gait.

Iwaizumi looked back at the traffic and cursed - he'd missed the opening, and it was too late to cross now unless he sprinted, dammit.

He glanced up, and that was what exactly Oikawa was attempting to do, already almost halfway across the road. Sucking in a breath, Iwaizumi glimpsed a truck approaching out of the corner of his eye, and then his body was moving on its own, racing out just in front of a car bumper.

He got a long honk for that, but it barely registered.

“Tooru, stop! STOP!”

Iwaizumi's yell was lost in the rush of the wind, and Oikawa only sped up to hear him. For a moment, Iwaizumi thought that maybe the truck would miss him, maybe the driver would see him, maybe he'd trip and he wouldn't be-

Iwaizumi was moving before he consciously decided to, his body knowing what his mind didn't want to admit. Oikawa's lips were spread into that deep, sincere smile, and that idiot didn't realise, that idiot was much too focused on Iwaizumi to take in his surroundings.

Only a few metres away, less than a metre, and then he could do it, he could shove Oikawa backwards, the idiot, the idiot. Iwaizumi outstretched his hands.

Agony ripped up Iwaizumi’s arm as the roar of the engine blocked up his ears, but he still heard Oikawa's faint cry of shock, merging into a shrill voice of pain. He stood there, frozen as the machine a few inches in front of him jerked to a stop, and so did Oikawa's body, half a second after.

He heard the crumpling thump, his gaze drawn to the milk bread packet squished underneath the massive tyre.

Because once everything was coming together, something always unraveled.

That's how life is.

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((I s wEAR TO FUCK IF I DON'T FINISH THIS CHAPTER SOON I WILL SMACK MYSELF WITH A rAW COLD WET DRIPPING CRAB  
> EDIT: THE CRAB WAS NOT REQUIRED AND NO CRABS WERE HARMED))  
> get your pitchforks ready to impale me  
> end my misery  
> he's not dead ok I just enjoy putting characters through severe emotional and physical trauma  
> also, just to be clear, him getting hit with a truck actually has a point, it isn't just "lol let's hit him with a truck" mexican drama style  
> murtfy will make sure I don't get carried away


	20. he lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> iwaizumi deals with grief badly, and oikawa wakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i am dying under schoolwork but here's an update because i haven't updated since july and that's an utter crime im so sorry

Iwaizumi bowed his head into his arms, curving them around his skull helplessly. His fingers, bandaged up heavily, dug sharply into his scalp, the pain helping to balance what he was feeling outside and inside. 

This was driving him insane, the silent waiting gnawing on his bones and disintegrating him from the inside out. 

Minor surgery, they said. Just to stitch up the gashes in his leg and arm. While he was under complete anaesthetic. Not like he would've woken up anyway. 

_ Minor surgery. Minor fucking surgery.  _

Without a distraction, Iwaizumi’s mind was stuck on one image. Oikawa's body. It looked so unnatural splayed warped twisted on the road, so  _ wrong,  _ like this shouldn't be happening, it couldn't be Tooru, not his Tooru, he'd already lost too much  _ did life have no fucking sense of justice at all?  _

He couldn't stay here. 

With a single lurch forwards, he was on his feet, battling the urge to rip through the bandages with his teeth out of pure anxiety. Was this all an experiment? How much loss could one person take until they broke? It wasn't fair. 

He passed by Yachi in the hallway, who put out a hand in empathy, her eyes gentle and hands soft. Iwaizumi could only nod at her, a bundle of sorrows knotting around his throat. He strode out past the front desk, feeling Hiroka’s sympathetic gaze on him but unwilling to meet it. He didn't need pity right now. He needed to feel, raw and crude. 

Once out of the familiarity of the hospital, Iwaizumi threw himself forward into a run, not bothering to pace himself, sprinting, stretching, savouring the sting in his feet. Before long, he was forced to a stop by the fire in his lungs. He doubled over, gasping in air, and held back tears. Not now. Not here. 

Straightening up, he began walking again, fast, catching his breath along the way. Another few minutes later and he was already deep into his old neighbourhood, with the grimy walls and the dirtier people loitering at the corners, outside shops that could've been mistaken for toilets or crackhouses, filth and smoke digested by every lung. 

Taking a hard right - Iwaizumi recalled the way by heart - he entered an alley, inconspicuous even by this neighbourhood’s standards. And to the left, and even more masked pub, the windows so caked with mud and rusted signs that if you had glanced at it, they would've appeared like walls. Iwaizumi swiftly stepped in, raised a hand to the bartender, looking around him. 

Two men slumped by the worn, crooked bar, some more scattered throughout the small establishment, smoking, playing darts on the mouldy board, poker chips abandoned on one tilting table. 

“Perfect,” Iwaizumi murmured, then calmly approached the bar. “Whiskey. Neat.”

As he slid over the money, Iwaizumi could feel the two staring at him. Even their gazes felt dirty, like slime dribbling down the back of his neck. He tipped back the glass and downed it all in one go, then slowly lowered it back down. Exhaling, he turned to them, the alcohol steaming through his ill-prepared system. 

“Yeah?” 

The one furthest away eyed him up, scratching his jaw through his heavy beard. “Aren’t you that lad who -” 

Iwaizumi drove his fist straight into the nearest man’s face, and something gave way underneath his knuckles. 

“Yeah?” He repeated, watching as the man crumpled backwards off of the stool, folding into the floor, unconscious. 

The other man blinked, then a hard, savage grin started to form on his lips. “Cutting right to the chase, aren't ya?” 

The bartender sighed. “I knew you were here to start trouble.” 

“Everyone here is just looking for an excuse for a scrap, right? Well, I'm giving them one. I need to work off some frustration,” Iwaizumi stated, carefully slipping off of his stool. “I'll try not to wreck the place too much.” 

“I'm not promising anything,” the remaining man said, gulping down the last of his drink. “Let's go, bitch boy.” 

Iwaizumi knocked the stool aside and swerved underneath the first swing, stepping in swiftly to shove him roughly backwards, right into the poker chip table. They scattered everywhere, ruining the game, and the patrons glowered darkly at Iwaizumi. 

“Oi, watch yourself.” 

“Get over it,” Iwaizumi spat out, bundling up his fists in a challenge. 

The man he'd pushed regained his balance and lunged for him again, this time his fist grazing dangerously close to Iwaizumi’s jaw. He hadn't been in a proper fight in so long - his reflexes had rusted. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the wrist in front of him and yanked it to the side, sending the man stumbling off to the side with a vicious kick to his lower back. 

Everyone’s eyes were on him now, watching silently as the poker crew rose from their seats.  Iwaizumi squared his shoulders, narrowed his eyes, and moved forwards, giving himself more space to manoeuvre in. The first one out of three approached more cautiously than the one earlier, circling around him like hyenas on a dying prey. 

At soon as the first one attacked, they all did. Iwaizumi’s body went into overdrive, ducking and dodging and smashing his fits into any openings he could find. 

Somehow - but not surprisingly - a fist connected with his cheek, propelling him to the side. Iwaizumi backed up, trying to clear the jarring sensation in his skull, and gave them a large, welcoming grin. 

They'll be the perfect distraction. 

\-----

Iwaizumi’s entire body was shaking as he dragged himself up the stairs, one haggard step at a time. He might've been trailing blood all over the linoleum, but fuck it. The stairs were shitty anyway.  

He veered towards his old apartment, and as he'd thought, the landlord hadn't bothered putting a lock back on the door. Lazy ass. But, Iwaizumi reasoned as he shouldered the door open, his laziness worked to his advantage. He hadn't changed the code to get into the apartment building either. 

It was worse than last time. Iwaizumi stepped into the dim hallway, and something scuttled away by the skirting. Iwaizumi supposed he would've felt at least a twinge of disgust if he hadn't been utterly exhausted, emotionally as well as physically. Now, he only trudged onwards, one sticky hand covering his nose, blood coating his fingers. He hoped it wasn't broken. 

Something dripped by his feet, and he wasn't sure if it was blood or tears. 

When had he started crying? 

Iwaizumi threw open the bathroom drawers, praying it was still there. He got lucky - a roll of toilet paper was nestled at the back, riddled with holes, bite marks. Grimacing, Iwaizumi reached for it - it was damp - and stripped off all of the outer layers, and hoped a rat hadn't pissed on it. An infection would be the perfect thing to top this day off with. 

The thought made Iwaizumi’s insides coil up, grief squeezing his throat as he ripped off some tissue, blotting at his nose. He bent over the sink, rinsing his face over and over, until his entire face was numb and the bleeding had stopped. 

Iwaizumi dried his face in his shirt, and realised that there was nothing more to do. 

He didn't remember making his way to the bedroom, but he did. The bed was gone - sheets,  mattress, frame - so he sat down on the cold floor, knowing Oikawa wouldn't be awake yet. Barely half an hour had passed since he left the hospital. 

Bar fights were always short and sweet.

He didn't want to go back. He wasn't ready. Dragging his hand across his newly wet face, Iwaizumi curved his knees into his chest, wishing the tears would stop coming, that the memories would stop replaying, that his hands would stop quivering. Tooru wasn't going to die. Don't be stupid. 

Iwaizumi inhaled, harsh and grating, and forced himself to exhale again, one shuddering breath after the other shaking with fear in his lungs. 

It didn’t help. 

\----

“He's still not out yet?”

Yachi nodded in sympathy, eyes ghosting over the forming bruises along Iwaizumi’s jaw, the swelling lip, his cracked knuckles. “I'll let you know the instant you can see him, Iwaizumi-san.” 

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi responded, his eyes dull, seeming to travel right through Yachi. 

“Iwaizumi-san, I know you’re worried about him, but he’ll be just fine,” Yachi assured him, clasping her hands together. “We have the best surgeons here, and there’s no internal bleeding as far as we can tell, so that’s good news! He skidded when he landed, so there’s no major damage to his shoulder or head-”

“Yachi, I know you’re trying to help, but I just need some time to clear my head, alright?” Iwaizumi cut across her, rubbing his chafed fingertips, the skin entirely ripped off by the side of the truck. Too slow to help Oikawa, fast enough to injure himself. Of course. 

Yachi nodded slowly, understanding. “Sorry, Iwaizumi-san, I was just thinking that maybe if you knew … he was lucky. A lot worse have come through here, but most of them survive, so there's really nothing for you to worry about.” 

“Mm,” Iwaizumi replied absently, inching past her as politely as he could manage. “I don't want to be holding you up, you must have stuff to do.” 

Yachi got the message and scampered off, after another promise of Oikawa’s wellbeing being in safe hands. Continuing on his way, Iwaizumi reached the familiar door, entering without even knocking. 

His mother glanced up from the book she was reading as he stepped in, and one second was all she needed. Her expression softened, and she put the book aside instantly, holding out her weak arms to him. 

“Hajime, what happened?” 

Iwaizumi’s shoulders shook, and he closed the door behind him with quivering, bloody hands. “Mom, I'm sorry,” he began, his voice uneven. “I know you don't want me fighting but I had to - I had to get it out somehow.” 

His voice rose, then fractured right down the middle, unwanted, unwelcome tears dripping down his cheeks. 

“It's fine, Hajime. Tell me what happened.” 

Iwaizumi made his way towards her, and he couldn't stop his hands from trembling. “Tooru - he - he -” 

Iwaizumi became fifteen again, the last time he was held with silent tears on his cheeks as he clambered in beside her, into her homely arms. 

 

“What happened to Tooru?” she questioned softly, so docile that Iwaizumi knew that she would understand if he couldn't tell her anything. 

He wrapped his arms around her, lying as close as he could to her on the bed. “He got hit by a truck,” he whispered. “And I saw it all - and if I hadn't been there, if I hadn't gone out looking for him, he wouldn't have tried to cross the road when he did, and it's my fault, isn't it? He was right in front of me, Mom. If I was a little bit faster I could've grabbed him or shoved him back out of the way, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

“It’s not your fault,” his mother assured him, rubbing softly down his back. “Things happen in life you can’t prevent or predict, and rarely it’s anyone’s fault. How is he?”

“He’s -” a knot in Iwaizumi’s throat strangled his voice, but he forced it down. “Fine. He’s going to live, but I think…” he hesitated, going back over the seconds before the truck. “I think he still relies on something to get out of his own head. He stopped drinking, but Matsukawa left the cough syrup in there and...I don’t know for sure, but he wouldn’t have tried to cross if he was sober. I saw him vomit, too.”

His mother went quiet for a bit, stroking through Hajime’s hair, soothing and slow. “Give him time, but be firm on him. Are you sure he’s the one you want to be with? Hajime, I don’t mean that in a bad way, but I want you to be happy and he sounds...well, a little problematic.”

Iwaizumi closed his eyes and leaned his face into her shoulder. “I love him, Mom.”

“I just don’t want it turning out like me and your father,” she answered, a little unsteady. “I loved him, too, but when someone’s fucked up, it takes a lot more than love to make it work.”

Swallowing hard, Iwaizumi hid his split knuckles with one hand, shame washing over him. “I’m not perfect either. He helps me too, you know. When I have nightmares, or can't relax on the bus, or when I need someone to talk to. I never used to talk about anything. To anybody. ” 

She covered his hand with hers. “As long as you think you can realistically handle this relationship with him. I don't want you put under any more stress.” 

“I'm fine,” Iwaizumi muttered. “I'll be better when he wakes up.” 

Her hand stilled on his back, halfway through her motion. “He really does mean a lot to you, doesn't he?” 

Iwaizumi choked out a dry chuckle. “You're only realising that now?” 

“Dating someone and loving someone with all your heart are different things,” his mother explained, resuming her reassuring circles. “One takes a lot more effort and carries a lot more risk, and I don't want anything to hurt you anymore.” 

Iwaizumi blew out a deep breath, relaxing against the warmth of her thin, but growing stronger, body. “I know, Mom. I know I love him.” 

“He's going to be okay,” Misaki said quietly against the crown of Iwaizumi’s head. “I know it.” 

Her words didn't stop a fresh set of tears from soaking into her hospital gown, or Hajime from wanting to furl himself up into a cocoon. He was scared, so scared, and rationally, he knew Tooru was going to be fine. 

And yet there was something terrified inside him, screaming that he was going to die. 

\---- 

“Hajime?” 

Iwaizumi opened his eyes wearily, the edges sticky with salt, and straightened up from his mother’s side. 

“Hiroka-san?” He asked, recognising the friendly face he hasn't talked to in weeks. 

“Just Hiroka,” she smiled, filling out her plump cheeks even more. “Thought you'd like to know that he's finished surgery and you can go and see him now.” 

Iwaizumi scrambled up from the bed so fast that he woke his mother, bleary, crinkled green eyes instantly understanding what was happening. She stayed silent as Hajime raced out the door, only slowing for an instant to ask Hiroka where his room was. 

Another blink and he was gone, without a single glance backwards. 

\----

“Tooru.” 

Iwaizumi whispered his name into his grazed fingers, as if the calling word could seep into his nerves, ease into his bones, and travel all the way up to his brain, to let him know to wake up, he was needed. 

Tubes were embedded into his body like sadistic webs, tangled around his nose and arms. Four broken ribs, both shoulders dislocated, pelvic fracture, uncountable amounts of cuts and bruises, but no internal bleeding. Iwaizumi knew he had been lucky, but it was hard to appreciate the blessings when all of the curses were laid out in front of you. 

“He probably will be out for another few hours thanks to the general anaesthetic,” Yachi had told him when he first entered, flushed and wide-eyed. “You can stay with him, obviously, just call one of us if anything happens.” 

Iwaizumi doesn't remember how he responded, only that he kept staring at Oikawa as he sat down, staring at the scrapes on his cheek and wondering why it had to be him. He suspected the image of motionless, breathless Oikawa wouldn't ever leave him. He attempted to override it with his memories of Oikawa slumbering serenely next to him, his imperfect smile, how his fingertips felt on Hajime’s forehead as he swept aside some stray hair, telling him that he needed a haircut. 

Iwaizumi leaned his forehead against the back of Oikawa’s hand, and began to pray, something he hadn't done for a long, long time. 

\------- 

Tooru woke slowly. 

There was a weariness in his limbs, a deadening of the senses that reminded him of the slow disintegration of alcohol, and he shut his eyes again, embracing it. Then the numbness began to creep out of his veins, retreating back into his lost sleep, and he tried to grasp onto it, plead for it back, but he was aware now. 

Being alone, getting bored, downing some more cough syrup, shop, seeing Iwaizumi and then… hospital. Definitely in hospital again. Something hit him, probably. For fuck’s sake. 

He became aware of a heavy warmth around his hand.

He didn't even turn his head. He knew who it would be, recognised the rough patches at the palm edges. There was only one person who would hold his hand like that, anyways. 

“Hajime?” crept past his lips, and suddenly something sunk in through the medication, an aching of sorts. 

He wanted to go back to floating, so badly. But he managed to flex his fingers this time, limply moving underneath Iwaizumi’s hands. Medication could wait, until after he talked to Hajime.

“Wake up, you thickhead,” Oikawa spoke raspily, and then the intense aching ventured into pain territory. “My hand’s going numb.” 

He tried to pull it away, but then his shoulder shifted, and he almost cried out at the sharp flash of pain. He stopped moving immediately, and it eased back to a quiet throbbing. Biting into his lower lip, Oikawa looked over at Iwaizumi, sound asleep, folded over onto his forearms at the edge of the bed, trapping Oikawa's whole hand and wrist. 

Oikawa used to like the fact that Iwaizumi was a heavy sleeper. 

“Hey,” he hissed out, trying to poke Iwaizumi’s cheek. He couldn't even lift his other hand. “Wake up, or I swear I'm going to have to get my hand amputated, you're killing it so much.” 

Iwaizumi finally began to stir, the unfairly inky shadows he had as eyelashes sifting slightly. 

“Motherfuc-” Oikawa began to curse, but he was cut off by a cough, the abrupt movement causing a searing pain to flare up across his chest. He gasped aloud, thinking that maybe he underestimated the damage he'd done to his body. 

His actions were loud enough to rouse Iwaizumi, though, and he raised his head, half-lidded eyes gazing at Oikawa for a heartbeat. 

“You woke up,” he said, voice low and hoarse. 

Oikawa ignored the pain in his chest and offered Iwaizumi a crooked smile. “‘Course I did. How could I expect you to live without me?” 

Iwaizumi shut his eyes again, lifting Oikawa’s hand to press it against his lips. “Thank you,” he whispered, and Tooru was afraid to ask if he was thanking him or God. 

Hajime hadn't struck him as a religious person before. Tooru chose to believe that he was thanking him. 

\-----

He couldn't stay awake long. The pain rose and rose like the approaching, crashing tide, and only ebbed a few seconds after Yachi slid the cold needle gently into his arm. The barbs of pain dimmed into a gentle throbbing of his ribs, shoulders and hips, but drowsiness accompanied the relief, a heavy-lidded tiredness sweeping over him that he couldn't resist. 

“Rest,” he heard Iwaizumi say to him, still by his bedside, still with his hand covering his. 

Oikawa went to reply, but all that came out of his mouth was a sloppy slur of a sentence, so he contented himself with squeezing his hand faintly. 

Blackness took him, and he tumbled down into it thankfully. 

\----- 

“Yeah, he won't be at practice today either, or for a while,” Iwaizumi said into the phone, and Yaku’s voice cracked across sharply. 

“Why does he always get you to tell me? He's old enough to sort out his own business now. What excuse does he have this time?” 

“He's in the hospital,” Iwaizumi responded, holding back a wince. “A truck hit him.” 

“Iwaizumi, you're not fucking serious are you? Tell me that this is your sense of humour - dry and morbid.” 

Iwaizumi grimaced, wishing that was the case. “Nope. He actually got hit by a truck this time. And he still has the cough, too.” 

“That motherfucker,” Yaku swore, and Iwaizumi could hear the concern in his voice, clearer than usual this time. “He’s always so extra. For normal people ‘Oh, I can't go to work because I'm sick,’ would be enough of a reason, but he has to be out of work because he got hit by a  _ fucking truck _ , doesn't he? Overdramatic asshole. So, what damage did he do to himself this time?” 

“He fractured his pelvis-”

“Good, then he can't entice you to have sex in the hospital bed. What else?” 

“Four broken ribs, and they've set his shoulders back into place now, but they were dislocated. Two deep cuts in his side - I think he landed on stones and skidded, so they got driven into his skin. That's it, apart from the bruises.” 

Yaku whistled down the line. “He really did a number on himself this time. When’s visiting hours?” 

Iwaizumi hesitated, suddenly realising that visiting hours haven't applied to him in some time. 

“I think it's one to two and then from six to eight. I'll check with Yachi and text you if I'm wrong.”  

“Alright. I'll be there at six to see the prize fucknut, gotta train now. See you.” 

“Alright.” 

Yaku hung up, and Iwaizumi stuffed his phone back into his pocket, wishing Oikawa would wake up again. 

\-----

Yachi popped her head around the door a half an hour later, glancing up at the clock, and then at an immobile Iwaizumi. 

“Have you eaten anything? It's dinner time, and you've been here all night and morning.” 

Iwaizumi's blink was slow, shaking his head as he rubbed one eye drearily. “I don't remember. I don't think so.” 

Yachi moved fully into the room, propping her hands on slender hips. “You haven't slept either, have you, Iwaizumi-san?” 

Iwaizumi only shrugged in response, his involuntary glance over to Oikawa all the explanation Yachi needed. She sighed, her blonde ponytail swishing with the soft action. 

“Can you spare some concern for yourself? I'm going to get you a hospital dinner, so please eat it, Iwaizumi-san. You have to take care of yourself to be able to take care of him.” 

“I'm fin-” Iwaizumi started, and then stopped as soon as he saw the look in Yachi’s eyes. “Alright, alright. I'll get some water.” 

“Some  _ water _ ?” Yachi repeated incredulously, and Iwaizumi straightened up, his hands rising to defend himself. 

“I meant coffee. And food. Of course I'll get food too.” 

“I'll be back in half an hour,” were Yachi’s last words - threat - before sweeping out of the room. 

Iwaizumi slumped back down into his chair again, then sighed and stood up, the sudden movement making his head spin and his vision to darken at the sides. Shit. Maybe he did need to get something. He didn't want to be passed out from dehydration or hunger when Oikawa woke up. Or incur Yachi’s wrath, which he was pretty sure would be the mildest, yet most shameful experience ever. 

Squeezing Oikawa's hand one last time, he walked out of the room, promising himself that it'd be quick. 

\---

When he came back with a coffee in hand, Oikawa still wasn't awake, but a dinner rested on the beside table, steaming up the plastic cover over it. 

Iwaizumi silently thanked Yachi as he sat down, the sight of food making his stomach curl into itself with longing. He hadn't realised how much he'd missed food until he'd smelt it. 

He tore into it, and it was gone within a few minutes. Then he settled back again with his coffee to continue his wait. 

\----

Oikawa woke a few hours later, his bleary brown eyes sweeping the room before resting on Iwaizumi, his head angled backwards, crooked against the chair’s back, eyelids shut. Thinking that maybe he was asleep, Oikawa extended a hand, managing to reach his tanned hand laying on his knee. 

The instant their skin made contact, however, Iwaizumi's body jerked upright, and his eyes flew open, an unstoppable smile passing over his lips. 

“Are you going to stay awake this time?” 

“I don't know, ask the nurse with the needle,” Oikawa shot back, his voice raspy from disuse. “It wasn't my fault that I passed out again, you fucker.” 

Iwaizumi really mustn't have gotten much sleep, because he laughed freely, out loud, without any attempt to act grumpy. “Alright, point taken. How are you feeling now?”

“Still like shit,” Oikawa replied honestly, shrugging limply. “I think I need some morphine or whatever they juiced me up with before.” 

Iwaizumi frowned, leaning forwards to clasp Oikawa’s hand. “Are you sure? You overdid it on the cough syrup -” 

“Oh my god, Hajime, that's nothing! I took too much because I was impatient and wanted to get better as soon as possible,” Oikawa sighed out, noticing the itch in his throat as he spoke. An improvement, but not quite better yet. 

“That's...not how medication works,” Iwaizumi told him, although he suspected Oikawa already knew that. 

A soft cough shook Oikawa, who winced against the wave of pain accompanying the juddering movement. 

“Oh, by the way, Yaku is dropping by later to see you, if that's alright,” Iwaizumi informed him, and Oikawa nodded. 

“I’ll need a break from you to talk to a regular human being.”

“Fuck you,” Iwaizumi responded automatically, but his tone didn't change. 

Oikawa examined him for a moment. “Are you okay?”

“You're the one in a hospital bed,” Iwaizumi deadpanned, massaging his hand carefully. 

“But are you? You’re very relaxed about all of this. I thought you'd be more...charged up about it. Angry at me for stepping out onto the street, blaming yourself stupidly, et cetera.” 

Oikawa sounded suspicious, and Iwaizumi fought the urge to pull his jacket sleeves up over his scabbing knuckles. 

“I got all of that out before you woke up,” he said simply. “It happened, so there’s no point to giving you a lecture. Just don’t let it happen again. Please.” 

Letting out a gentle sigh, Oikawa bowed his head, submitting. “I’m not going to try and deliberately fucking step out in front of a car, Hajime. That’s what happened, right? I can’t remember much.” 

“Yeah, but that wasn’t what I was referring to,” Iwaizumi replied, a bit more viciously than he intended. “If you insist on getting fucked up-”

“I wasn’t!” Oikawa snapped out. 

“You were out of it, that was clear to see to anyone who looked at you, so don’t fucking bother denying it!” Hajime spat back, his hand squeezing Oikawa’s uncomfortably rigidly. 

Oikawa’s protesting expression deflated, his grip on Iwaizumi’s hand hollow and loose. 

“It was an accident,” he said quietly, averting his eyes. “I’m sorry, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi stood up, and Oikawa’s heart lurched with fear. But he only leaned forwards and tilted Oikawa’s head towards him, meeting his gaze readily. 

“I know it was,” he breathed, and kissed him shallowly, just a swift touch of their mouths. “I know you’re trying, and I’m proud of you for that.” 

Oikawa’s lower lip wavered, just a fraction, as he lifted a hand, resting it on the side of Iwaizumi’s cheek, silently showing his gratitude he couldn’t express in words. After a few seconds, Iwaizumi sat down again, clasping Oikawa’s hand between both of his palms. 

Neither of them spoke for a good few hours, not until Yaku arrived.

\-----

The knock on the door kicked them both out of their wordless truce. 

“Oh, great,” Oikawa grumbled. “Another person who’s going to yell at me for being an idiot.”

“Well, you deserve it,” Iwaizumi commented shortly, moving over to the door and opening it. “Hey, Yaku, Ushijima. How’re you?”

“Ushiwaka-chan?” Oikawa hissed out, a second before Iwaizumi stepped back and let the two into the room. 

Ushijima seemed at ease despite the half-hearted glower Oikawa was aiming at him, second only to the glare Yaku was giving Oikawa. 

“Why’d you bring him?” Oikawa asked flatly, Yaku scowling at him. 

“Don’t be rude. Ushijima’s a person too, you know,” he answered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ask him. He wanted to see your idiotic ass, for some reason.”

“Why’re you here?” Oikawa repeated, staring at Ushijima.

“To see how you are,” Ushijima replied. “What other reason would I be here?”

“There you go,” Iwaizumi said, cutting Oikawa off before he could be any pettier. “He’s doing well enough to be grumpy.”

“Oh, that goes without saying,” Yaku agreed, hopping onto the end of Oikawa’s bed. “If he was dying he’d still be petty up to his last breath.”

Iwaizumi snorted, offering his seat to Ushijima. “You’re right about that.”

“I feel so attacked,” Oikawa complained as Yaku began scrolling through his phone. 

“Not attacking if we’re telling the truth,” Yaku drawled, tapping a few things. “Oh, by the way, here,” he said, thrusting his phone into Iwaizumi’s hands. “Read that.”

It was an article on Oikawa’s accident, posted just a few hours before. Iwaizumi’s eyebrows shot up, giving Yaku an incredulous look. “How did they find out so soon?”

“Overly-earnest ace over here can’t figure out when to keep his damn mouth shut,” Yaku sighed out, inclining his head over to Ushijima, who looked unperturbed. 

“I don’t see why that’s a problem. They asked where Oikawa was, and I told them.”

“They would’ve found out from the witnesses anyway,” Iwaizumi reassured him, scanning the article. “Just maybe not as quickly.”

It was surreal, reading about what happened from the outside when he was there, he was the one being referred to in the eyewitness accounts. 

_ It was so silent afterwards - nobody knew what to do, and the truck had stopped the flow of traffic, the other side slowing to see what had happened.  _

_ Yeah, then this guy he was running to before he got hit walked over to him - I think he might've been sobbing, or just shaking, I could only see his back.  _

_ He knelt down beside him and kind of...stared at him. I think he was in shock.  _

_ Someone called the ambulance, and he just rested a palm on Oikawa-san’s cheek, bending over close to his face.  _

_ It sort of looked like prayer, but not really. I'm not sure what he was doing.  _

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure what he had been doing, either. It was sort of all a traumatic blur for him, rushed images and pains in his chest. He had only realised he was crying when he had tasted salt on his lips.  He closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to remember it any more clearly. Oikawa was alright, and that was the only thing that mattered. 

Iwaizumi glanced up, to Oikawa tucked in his bed, talking lightly to Yaku and Ushijima. Hey, he was even chatting to Ushijima with less of a repulsed expression on his face than usual. That was progress, wasn't it? He smiled faintly, stepping over to them to hand the phone back to Yaku. 

“Thanks.”

“Hey, wait, I want to see what they said about me,” Oikawa whined, grasping for the phone. “Did they get a photo? Do I look good in it? I probably do, I bet I can get hit with a truck and still look amazing.” 

Rolling his eyes, Yaku surrendered his phone to him. Oikawa caught his look and stuck out his tongue. “Am I wrong, Yaku-chan? Look at me. I've been drugged up almost constantly since I woke up, and I still look decent.” 

Iwaizumi’s gaze traced underneath his eyes, the dismal bags having shrunken since a few days ago. “You look better than normal, since you're actually being forced to sleep.” 

Oikawa scowled at him. “I got hit by a truck, stuck in hospital, drugged up, and you're saying I look  _ better  _ than usual? I find that highly offensive.” 

“Only telling the truth.” Iwaizumi shrugged, and Yaku gave a half-shrug too, holding up his hands. “He's right. You do look better rested than usual, even without makeup.” 

“Dear Yaku, have you  _ seen _ the state of my hair? It's almost as bad as Hajime’s,” Oikawa sniffed, self-consciously threading his fingers out through his bangs. “Almost.” 

“Hey,” Iwaizumi warned. “Lay off the hair.” 

“Oh, does it have feelings now too? Maybe getting a bit sensitive?”

“Can you stop being an asshat for two seconds?”

“Don't know why we bothered coming,” Yaku said flatly. “Oikawa’s just fine. Still being just as much as a dickass as usual.”

Oikawa’s answer made Iwaizumi snort, his mind easing back out of worry mode, grateful for the light relief Yaku brought with him. The remainder of the visiting hours were spent in aimless chattering, discussing the upcoming players, the training regime and their hopes for the league. It was familiar, easy, and exactly what Iwaizumi needed. Even Oikawa’s scathing, bitter retorts aimed at Ushijima were softer than normal. Iwaizumi chose, optimistically, to view that as improvement. 

Somehow, Iwaizumi fell into conversing with Ushijima, who was refreshingly like him, straightforward and so unlike Oikawa’s twisting way of speech - how he hid his actual feelings under layers of hints - he got quite a shock. It didn't take him long to get over it, however, and soon Oikawa was scowling down at them, but Iwaizumi didn't even notice. 

“You've seen how he hits, it's sort of…”

“Unconventional?” Ushijima suggested, and Iwaizumi nodded. “Exactly. Like he taught himself every trick he knows, and doesn't know how to get into proper form.” 

“It's not surprising. He needs to choose what style he wants to -”

“Hey,” Oikawa interrupted rudely, projecting his voice at Iwaizumi. “Enough manly bonding. Hajime, pay attention to me.” 

Iwaizumi pointedly ignored him and continued listening to Ushijima. Yaku rolled his eyes, prodding Oikawa in the neck, one of the few places he wasn't injured, by some miracle. 

“Do you want to chill a little on your jealousy issues a bit and give Iwaizumi a break?” 

Oikawa blew a raspberry at him in response, and Yaku retreated backwards, holding up his hands to fend off the spit. “You're a disgusting man.” 

Iwaizumi’s focus flickered over to them for a second, only to say a stark, “Amen,” before returning to his conversation. 

“You two always gang up on me,” Oikawa whined, turning his head to the side. 

Yaku extended a hand and patted his shoulder lightly. “We’re just pointing out ways you can improve on yourself. Cheer up, Oiks. You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“Barely,” was Oikawa’s stagnant reply, gesturing to the tubes with thin, pale fingers. 

Yaku cast his gaze down to Iwaizumi and Ushijima, who were engrossed in conversation, searching for a way to distract Oikawa. 

“Hey, you two should arm wrestle,” Yaku called down to them, amusement glinting in his pale eyes. “See who's superior.” 

Oikawa’s head rotated back to Yaku, his eyes bright. “Hajime will win.” 

Iwaizumi glanced over to Ushijima, and then to his arms, wrapped in his jacket sleeves, but not hidden by any means. Damn. 

“I'm up for it,” he found himself saying, wondering if he was stronger than Daichi. 

He saw Ushijima evaluating him too, and his lips quirked upwards, subtly flexing underneath his clothes. Ushijima shook his head.

“I find displays of strength like this pointless. On the volleyball court, however, I will gladly take you up on your challenge.” 

“Until later, then,” Iwaizumi concluded, but he couldn't deny his disappointment. 

The rest of visiting hour was spent in mellow conversation, Oikawa eventually coming out of his I-need-attention sulk to - gasp - even interact somewhat normally with Ushijima. 

“Hey, we’ll see you again soon,” Yaku told them, backtracking to the door. “Oikawa, try not to get fucked up any more, okay? Even though your body is sustained on hardly anything but bitchiness and spite, it still needs rest, got it? Iwaizumi, make sure of that.”

“That goes without saying. I’ll knock him out if I have to.”

Ushijima frowned as Oikawa spluttered out a protest. “But wouldn’t that damage him further?”

Iwaizumi cracked a smile. “I was kidding. They have drugs here plenty strong enough to knock him out without me having to lift a finger.”

Oikawa gave him a vicious poke into his hip as Yaku and Ushijima left, with more promises of visiting soon. 

The second the door clicked shut, Oikawa turned to Iwaizumi, his icy gaze the sharpest he'd seen from the moment he woke up. A sense of unease hit Iwaizumi suddenly, an intensity running down his spine, causing his skin to rise in goosebumps. 

Every time he temporarily forgot how scary Oikawa could be, he got a rough reminder. 

“I'm going to need more painkillers soon, but before that, what did you do?” 

Iwaizumi blinked, to release himself from Oikawa’s stare. “What do you mean?” 

“You were in a fight. You really think I wouldn't notice?” 

Iwaizumi swallowed hard, bending forwards to grip Oikawa's hand. “I was so worried, Tooru. I had to let it out somehow.” 

Oikawa's eyes drifted downwards, and stuck on Iwaizumi’s scabbing knuckles. 

“What did you do?” 

His voice was heavy, and left no room for bullshit. Iwaizumi took a second to shift his sleeves up over the back of his hand, but couldn’t quite reach his knuckles. Letting go of Oikawa’s hand, he sat back, bunching his hands in his lap, avoiding Oikawa’s steady stare. 

“I got into a bar fight.” 

He must’ve been insane to hope that Oikawa would be satisfied by that answer. 

“Why?” 

“Some guys were being dicks,” Iwaizumi told him shortly. 

Oikawa only looked at him, his calm hazel eyes calculating every word, every minute reaction of Iwaizumi’s. 

“Guys have been douches before and you’ve never gotten into a fight,” he observed, eyes crinkling up with suspicion. “Apart from my father, but that was different. Who did you fight? Where and when was it?” 

At Iwaizumi’s hesitation, Oikawa gave a loud sigh, rolling his eyes. “You’re acting like you’re in trouble with the principal in middle school or some shit. I’m your boyfriend, Hajime. You don’t have to be so stressed out.” 

He added a quick smile onto the end, extending out a hand to cover Iwaizumi’s, being gentle with the damaged patches on his knuckles. 

“It’s-“ Iwaizumi paused. “It’s just because you didn’t know me before I got my shit sorted out. I used to take out my anger and frustration on anyone who was up for a scrap.” 

“So you fell back into an old habit.” 

“Pretty much. But it helps, it really does,” Iwaizumi tried to assure him. 

Oikawa’s tense eyes narrowed - just for an instant, just a twitch - but Iwaizumi saw it. His jaw tightened up, but before he could defend himself further, Oikawa spoke. 

“Like how alcohol helps me?”

Iwaizumi responded too quickly. 

“It’s different. I don’t do it anymore.”

Oikawa winced, his hand flinching on Hajime’s, and Iwaizumi shook his head. 

“Sorry - Tooru, I didn’t mean… you’re improving, I know that,” he said weakly, a lame apology. 

He was fearful to meet Oikawa’s gaze, afraid that he might only see a stone, cold wall. But he only saw hurt, and an affection that couldn’t be budged. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Oikawa brushed away his comment. “You can’t only talk to me.”

“I don’t,” Hajime argued back. “I talk to my mom now.”

“Before you got into a fight?”

Iwaizumi stayed quiet. Oikawa squeezed his hand reassuringly. 

“I’m really glad that you do, though. I know you prefer to express feelings through actions, but sometimes that’s not the best way to handle them. And if you bottle it up, it’s even worse.”

“Says you,” Iwaizumi grumbled back, and Oikawa chuckled, drawing Iwaizumi’s hand up from his lap, pressing it to his chest. 

“I’m being a bit of a hypocrite here, aren’t I? Another quality to add to my vast list.”

Appreciating the warmth of Oikawa’s heart against the back of his hand, Iwaizumi nodded. 

“You’re being a bit of a dickhead too, to be honest with you. I know you’re insanely observant, but can you let this one thing go, for once?” he asked, curling his fingers tightly around Oikawa’s. “It’s not going to happen again, alright? I’ll promise that, and I don’t promise shit easily. Will you be happy with that?”

With light eyes, Oikawa gazed at him for a second, then one corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “I suppose that’ll satisfy me for the moment.”

Iwaizumi gave out a short huff of breath through his mouth, closing his eyes briefly. “Then I promise I won’t get into needless fights, okay?”

“That’s good enough!” Oikawa chirped out, his eyes warm brown crescents. “Now, about my hospital entertainment schedule -”

Abruptly, Oikawa’s phone began ringing, and he reached for it, glancing at the caller id. He paled, the corners of his mouth downturning. “Hajime…”

“Yeah?”

“I think my family might have found out about me being hit by a car.”

“You don’t know that for sure. Answer and find out.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Tooru…”

“Fine, fine,” Oikawa relented unhappily, tapping accept. “Hi, sis!”

“TOORU WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED HOW DID YOU GET HIT BY A TRUCK -”

Oikawa panicked and his thumb shot to the red button, effectively slicing off his sister’s voice. He looked at Iwaizumi, who had heard everything easily, with wide, alarmed eyes. 

“I think they know.” 

His phone immediately began ringing again in his palm, and Oikawa quickly flicked it to silent. Iwaizumi sighed. 

“You’re going to have to talk to them eventually, you know. They’re worried about you.”

“Not now,” Oikawa hissed out, dropping his phone onto the bedside locker, where the screen continued to flash insistently. He faced it down. “I can’t deal with my mother and sister yelling at me right now. It was the article, wasn’t it? Fucking journalists.”

“If you want, I can tell them that you’re okay,” Iwaizumi offered. “Just so they know.”

“As long as I don’t have to talk to them, I don’t care,” Oikawa grumbled, slithering down as far as he could into the bedsheets. “Go ahead, I guess.”

Iwaizumi reached for the phone and prepared himself. Taking a deep breath, he tapped the accept button, standing up to walk to the end of Oikawa’s bed. A blast of concerned rambling entered his ear, and he grimaced at Oikawa, understanding why he didn’t want to talk to his sister.

“Tooru Jesus Christ I thought you would never answer where are you which hospital are you okay what’s broken how did this happen-”

“It’s Iwaizumi,” Iwaizumi broke across her firmly. “Sorry for interrupting, but Tooru’s fine. He’s going to be healed fully in a couple of weeks.”

“A couple of weeks?! What did he do to himself?! Iwaizumi, put him on. I need to talk to him!”

Iwaizumi hesitated, meeting Oikawa’s frantic eyes. Iwaizumi was speaking even before Oikawa shook his head. 

“He can't right now,” he answered steadily. “There's no need to worry about him.” 

He hung up before his sister could verbally batter him with queries and demands again, exhaling deeply. “Christ.” 

“Yeah,” Oikawa deadpanned. “That's why I didn't want to speak to them. I mean, I understand why she's like that, but sometimes it's difficult to handle. Thanks for letting her know I'm okay.” 

“It would be pretty shitty not to,” Iwaizumi pointed out, and Oikawa rolled his eyes. 

“Wouldn't have been the first time I was a shitty person to her.” 

His phone began vibrating again in Iwaizumi’s hand, who grimaced and set it to silent. “I hope you mean that in the regular shitty sibling way.”

Oikawa shrugged. “Sort of. It wasn't fair on her either way. It wasn't her fault she was the favourite child.” 

Iwaizumi sighed loudly, making his way back to Oikawa’s bedside, spinning around the idle chair with one hand to sit facing him. “How many years older is she?” 

“Seven.”

“An unlucky number.”

Oikawa laughed harshly. “For both me and her, definitely.” 

Iwaizumi extended a hand and clasped Oikawa's as tightly as he dared. 

“Hajime?” Oikawa asked quietly. 

“Yeah?” 

“Kiss me.”

And Hajime did, soft and sweet, the caring movie first-kiss of two teenagers accepting their feelings for the first time. When he pulled back, Oikawa was smiling. 

“But I think I'm very lucky right now.”

Hajime tried not to smile back, he really did. He settled for covering his grin with his palm and snorting loudly, mingled with an abrupt chuckle. 

“That’s so fucking lame.”

Oikawa swatted viciously at him, his cheeks burning. 

“But,” Iwaizumi continued, bending in again to rest his forehead against Oikawa’s, “for the record, I think I’m very lucky to have such a problematic fuck as you, too.” 

“Fuck you,” Oikawa responded, mouth shaping outwards into a pout. 

Hajime laughed, and kissed him again with a smile in his breath. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaannnnnnnnd i'm going to try and wrap this up in the next chapter WHICH IS WHAT I'VE BEEN SAYING FOR LIKE THE LAST FIVE ONES BUT STILL I AM SWEARING ON THIS OKAY  
> are any of you still here btw  
> i wouldn't blame you if you weren't


End file.
